


Operation Lee

by Cwitch



Series: It's Complicated [1]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Law & Order: SVU, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit RPF, Oz (TV), Oz RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, RPF, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Toys, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cwitch/pseuds/Cwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keller's fumbling attempt at a grope has unforeseen consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Asshole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aletter2elise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aletter2elise/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Call Me A Dog](https://archiveofourown.org/works/59832) by [surreallis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreallis/pseuds/surreallis). 



> Author's Notes: **THIS IS RPF (REAL PERSON FICTION)!** You have been warned! Starts Season 2, “Family Bizness.” Spoilers apply for the entire series. Some exact dialog used. Lovingly beta'd by @levitatethis. Research by @melonirocks.
> 
> Disclaimers: All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. **This never happened!**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Keller's clumsy groping has unforeseen consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Operation Lee Part 1  
> Author: @cwitch  
> Fandom: Oz (TV) - RPF/S  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Characters: Chris Meloni, Lee Tergesen  
> Pairing(s): Meloni/Tergesen  
> Genre: RPF/S  
> Beta(s): The other half of my brain, @levitatethis  
> Notes: This entire series is NC-17 - it contains slash, real people, bad language, and sex. Anything prompted by a kink table will receive a separate warning.  
> Disclaimer: All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. **This never happened!**

"No. You're not alone …”

Keller snaked his hand down to Beecher's fly with purpose, caught up in the moment of giving the only comfort he understood. “Operation Toby” flew out of his mind and over the walls that pressed in on them. In this moment, all that mattered to Keller was making Beecher feel something other than the anguish simmering below, threatening to overwhelm them.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Beecher roared and cowered simultaneously.

Nearly shocked out of his all encompassing grief from the unexpectedly solid warmth of Keller - against his back, hand around his dick - another layer of guilt settled over Beecher. Falling into a man's touch on the heels of his wife's suicide? He couldn't get any lower.

*****

  


“ **CUT**! That was great guys. Print. 35 for the next set up. Lee, Chris, you're good for the day. Thank you,” the director rambled, graciously yet quickly, unsure if she had seen what she thought she had. _Something to look forward to at the dailies tonight, she mused devilishly._

“Asshole!” Lee whispered through grit teeth as he turned on his heel and marched off set.

Chris, somewhat thrown by the vitriol in Lee’s voice, chuckled nervously as he watched him go, trying to brush off the sudden tension that was only heightened when the A.D. snarked, “Wow, do we _all_ get hand jobs?” while handing Lee his robe.

“Fuck you!” Lee snapped as he tied the robe up and made a beeline for his dressing room without looking back.

 _Oh shit, there he goes again!_ Chris thought with a resigned sigh as he tried to make small talk with the crew, killing time until he could go speak to Lee in private, away from the watchful gaze of those who were far too inquisitive.

*****

  


Checking over his shoulder for unwanted eyes and ears, Chris took a deep breath and knocked on the door. “Lee?”

“Asshole!” Lee huffed, his voice muffled, his anger unmistakable. Chris could hear him pacing on the other side of the door and knew that something between them - something he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet could not deny - had begun scratching its way to the surface.

“Does that mean I can come in?” he asked, deliberately keeping his voice light.

More rustling. “Yeah,” was the eventual, cryptic reply.

After one more check of the empty hall, Chris opened the door and slipped inside the room, hugging his one escape route as closely as possible lest he had to dodge flying objects or fists. “Listen man, I didn't mea-”

The look on Lee's face stopped him mid-sentence, literally driving the breath from his lungs. Lee’s eyes, usually a playful ocean-blue that, when fixed on Chris’ held an invitation he couldn’t decline if he tried, now sliced at him with a cutting glare of green fury and ... _something_ else.

“I asked you not to do that!!! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”

Chris expected the anger that flew at him. What he wasn’t prepared for was the confused quiver lurking just beneath.

“You said I could. We talked about it. We rehearsed it. Why are you so pissed?” Chris instinctively went from defensive mode to an offensive counter attack. He felt like he was arguing with his wife, which in itself made no fucking sense. He came to work to get away from that shit, not to play it out with a co-worker. And since when did Lee strike such a personal chord with him?

“I said you could grab me through my shorts! Not hold … my dick!” Lee struggled to maintain a commanding tone, but it quickly dissolved into an embarrassed whisper. “Why did you do that?”

“Listen, you were already flopped out anyway. I just went with it. I didn't blow you in front of the crew for Christ's sake!” Chris responded way too sharply for the way he felt and desperately hoped his protestation didn’t have the opposite effect of suggesting he was falling more on the “caught with his hand in the cookie jar” side of the line than “possible sexual harassment at the workplace.”

“Thank God for that!” Lee retorted sarcastically, throwing up protective walls as fast as he could, knowing full well it would also set Chris on edge.

“Maybe I should ...” Chris muttered, looking to the floor then the door behind him before settling a steady gaze back on Lee. “You wouldn't be so fucking wound up all the time!”

“You're such an asshole,” Lee muttered, some of the fight draining from him while a flood of conflicting feelings, all centered on the man standing across from him, raced through his body. Sounding more explanatory, almost pleading, he added, “You know I am nervous enough about this whole arc. I don't need you throwing me curve balls in the middle of a scene.”

“If you got over all this bullshit you wouldn't be so nervous. What are you so worried about?” Chris edged away from the door and further into the room, past Lee, mindful of those blazing, searching eyes following his every move - near, far, right, left. Frustrating as he was, Lee had gotten completely and utterly under Chris' skin like nothing he had ever experienced before on a job. At least he hoped it was still just a job.

“What do you mean 'maybe I should'?” Lee asked, sounding alarmed, determined, and _curious_?

Chris' head snapped up to see Lee's jaw set and arms crossed, silently demanding an answer. Quietly, he groaned at what he was mentally starting to refer to as The Famous Tergesen Non Sequitur. No matter who Lee was with, or how long he had known someone, Chris had seen Lee whip out an obscure comment someone had made months earlier just to pull the rug out from under them and watch them fumble to stay afoot. It was funny as hell when not directed at him.

Wanting to shut down one of Lee's rambling gotchas before it even began, Chris mimicked his posture and took the two steps that brought them face-to-face, nearly nose-to-nose. He figured if Lee wanted to push this, then it was time to push first and push hard. He’d be damned if he let Lee call all the shots. Deep down, Chris knew this was the make it or break it moment that would set the tone between them outside of this room, beyond this moment, frozen in time. And if indeed that subtle ... _something_ ... existed beyond a rehearsal miscommunication, if Lee felt an inkling of what Chris did, it was now or never to clear the air and find equal footing.

Once he knew he had Lee’s undivided attention, Chris launched his first verbal salvo. “What I meant,” he began slowly, drawing out the words, refusing to let Lee, still buttressed by crossed arms, look away, “was One: I think you have some dumb ass, small-town idea that if we play this right, people will think you're a fag. Two-”

“I do not give a-” Lee shot back too quickly, flustered anticipation making him uncharacteristically trip over his words while a slight flush tinged his neck pink.

“Shut up, I'm not done,” Chris cut him off with firm, unwavering intent while keeping his smile mute, clearly beginning to enjoy having Lee on the defensive. “Two: You're always so wound up all the goddamn time, you're like being around a tuning fork. I don't know what's bugging you, but something is.”

“I don't think you kno-”

“Three: -” Chris stepped a half step closer so his forearms pressed against Lee's, making them both sway slightly from the surge of electric contact. “Three … I think what's bugging you is that a pretty big part of you is at least a little damn _curious_ , and would really, …” Chris took a deep breath, not willing to back down after coming this far, but feeling something snap in his head, warning him that he wasn't just talking to Lee anymore, he wasn’t simply teasing him, but was treading too damn close to a confession himself, “... really like me to.”

Speechless. For the first fucking time since they’d met, Lee was at a complete loss for words. And as Chris noted with a small sense of victory, they were both slightly breathless. He watched Lee's mouth move around silent words, holding pleading, uncertain eye contact Chris couldn't read.

Giving every warning without actually announcing it, Chris uncrossed his arms and moved another half -step, his heart beating more erratically than he wanted to admit, and pressed himself against Lee. He took another deep breath, defiantly holding Lee's confused and angry yet wanting stare, and lowered his left hand in a repeat of the day’s earlier exploration. Quickly, surely – through the robe, through the fly, and around Lee's cock.

Lee grit his teeth in response, the clicking sound booming in Chris’ ears. Staying still, so very still, Chris simply held him in a warm fist, allowing himself to feel the hot, impossibly silky flesh pulse as Lee thickened in his hand. _Whoa, that's different,_ Chris thought, his brain condensing his sense of touch to just his hand, feeling tiny twitches in his palm and flickers in his fingers he never bothered to notice when he handled his own dick.

With a silent shudder, Lee finally blinked. _Gotcha, you stubborn bastard!_ Chris let a slight smile curl at the corners of his mouth and pulled his hand in a firm, long stroke up Lee's more-than-half-hard cock, fingertips dancing in a slow circle over the damp head as he let go.

“I like it, too,” Chris whispered in a broken croak he very nearly didn’t recognize as his own voice and, most certainly, didn't want to think about.

“Fuck ...” Lee grunted, low and breathy, worriedly accepting, as Chris let go and stepped back.

After a moment’s pause, Chris turned and walked out, hoping he could make it down the hall without being seen, willing himself not to think of Lee standing alone in the room, aroused and flushed. Instead, Chris was consumed by his own unbidden thoughts, his own unwanted discovery detailed in the fluttery pulse refusing to calm down, aching cock searching for release, and ocean-blue eyes he couldn’t escape whenever he closed his own.


	2. Curious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author: cwitch  
> Fandom: Oz (TV) - RPF/S  
> Wordcount: 2305  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Characters: Christopher Meloni, Lee Tergesen  
> Pairing(s): Meloni/Tergesen  
> Genre: RPF/S  
> Warning(s): Adult language, Sexual situations  
> Beta(s): The other half of my brain, levitatethis  
> Notes: This entire series is NC-17 - it contains slash, real people, bad language, and sex. Anything prompted by a kink table will receive a separate warning.  
> Disclaimer: All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. This never happened!  
> Summary: Lee calls Chris' bluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: **THIS IS RPF (REAL PERSON FICTION)! You have been warned!** Starts Season 2, “Family Bizness.” Spoilers apply for the entire series. Some exact dialog used. Lovingly beta'd by @levitatethis. Research by @melonirocks.
> 
> Disclaimers: All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit shall me made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. **This never happened!**

Not having to be at work until Tuesday meant the rest of the week and well into the weekend went by quietly for Chris. He hated it. He was used to talking to Lee at least twice a week just to run lines or make sure they were on the same page. And THE SCENE, the one looming on the horizon from the start, was finally coming up. Still, there was no call. He wasn't a worrier by nature, but this had him on edge, questioning everything he didn't want to think about. Had he just fucked him self out of a friendship, a job – maybe both?

 _This is bullshit! What is he, twelve?_  Chris groused to himself. Pissed off that Lee could irritate him so easily and still too stubborn himself to phone, Chris spent a rather uncomfortable 72 hours doing exactly what he was trying not to - thinking non-stop about Lee. Not the job, not the potential harassment claim, but him: the throaty breaths filling the small space between them, the blown pupils pulling everything in, the lingering heat that would spontaneously ghost over his hand. Something had happened between them, eloquence be damned. Just  _happened_. Something had taken root in his head, in his heart. And that asshole still hadn't called.

 

*****

 

“Hiya ...”  _That sounded way too eager_ , Chris thought as he answered on the first ring.

“Uh, hmph ... Hi, Chris,” Lee said flatly. This wasn't the usual sing-song Chris was used to hearing.  _Shit! Go slow, make him bring it up._

“Hi. What's up?” Chris hoped that sounded convincingly nonchalant but the words felt false and heavy rolling off his tongue. For a moment, he reconsidered his choice of acting as a career.

“Yeah...uh, we still need to work on the blocking for the … um ...laundry scene. I talked to Alan, we're not going to have much time Tuesday.” Although Lee’s voice sounded distant, Chris was relieved he wasn’t being threatened with legal action or reprimanded for crossing an obvious professional and ethical line.

“Sure. Okay. Do you want to get together before or something?” Chris cringed as soon as he said it. _Smooth move, now it sounds like a date or some shit_.

“Yeah. I have time tomorrow. Two o'clock?” Lee sounded far away, distant and barely invested in the conversation. The implications twisted in Chris' gut, feeling like he was being poked in the stomach with something sharp.

“Sounds good. Where?” He dreaded bringing this new found tension to set, not before dealing with what had happened and what remained unresolved and lurking, but he wasn't going to push for it. Not now, not when his palms were sweating for reasons he convinced himself not to entertain.

“Here. Okay?”  _That wasn't an invitation_ , Chris mused.  _That was a demand_.

“Yeah. Okay, your place. Two o'clock.” He swallowed hard.  _Nope, it's nothing, just privacy because he's nervous_ , Chris told himself, trying to convince his mind of something his body insisted on denying. It didn’t help that the call was refusing to play out like anything he had been scripting in his head since he had last seen Lee.

“Okay. See you then. Bye.”

“Yeah. Bye.” And that was it. The big blow up. The usually impossible-to-shut-up Lee threw twenty words down on him and hung up. That alone was enough to make Chris, who never worried, worry for another eighteen hours.  _Who was fucking things up now?_  he wondered, all the while thinking there might be something to the life/art imitation bullshit.

  


  


*****

  


  


  


“Okay, so this is about the distance between the table and the washer ...” Lee pushed his sofa about three feet closer to an accent table in his living room. He was all business yet almost as cheerful as usual, which did absolutely nothing to keep Chris from dreading that the other shoe was about to drop.

  


“God, I feel like I'm in college again. I haven't rehearsed in an apartment in years.”  _There_ , Chris thought,  _that sounded light and casual. Right?_

Lee chuckled and sniffed, then went dead serious in a way that instantly set Chris on guard. “Well, it's better than some asshole A.D. not minding his own business.”

“You ought to get that guy fired.” Chris truly hated bias of any kind, and when it was directed at someone he cared about –  _wait, what? I care about this guy?_  – his blood boiled.

“Ha!” Lee laughed. The sight of him momentarily free of concerns and heavy thoughts, all the while playing hot and cold, made Chris dizzy and breathless, and they hadn’t even gotten to the scene yet.

Lee raised a golden eyebrow and rolled his eyes, “I wish I had that kind of pull. Besides, who'd fire that ass kisser?”

“Gotta point there … Okay, wanna start?” Chris took a deep breath and dove off the cliff, as he often did. But this time, he had no idea what would break his fall.

*****

Half an hour later Chris was about to scream, walk out, throw Lee down on the sofa, or some combination he could only vaguely imagine because he still really didn't want to think about it. Six times in a row he went through that fucking four wives speech and Lee stopped – just before the last two lines – and wanted to start from the top. Chris liked to think of himself as a patient guy, but this, this was either punishment or a big tease. He wondered who could be that devious.  _Yeah, the fucking six-foot grinning Leprechaun four feet away from you, that's who._

  


“Again?” Lee asked.

“I think I got that part down. 'Except Bonnie, who I married twice – yadda yadda yadda'… Yeah. I got it.” Chris was getting annoyed. Plain and simple. He wasn't worrying anymore, because he didn't worry. And the edge of the table was digging into his ass. And Lee kept smiling at him when he got close. And whatever shampoo or cologne or soap the guy used was distracting him because he smelled so good. Yes, he was annoyed ... and a little turned on.

“Okay. Then start from 'bitch' and go on.” Lee dropped the grin and took a deep breath.  _Finally!_ Chris thought.

“Bitch!”

Lee leaned on his hands against the sofa. “C'mere ..."

Chris laughed.

“Get the fuck over here.” Lee grinned and walked over, hands on Chris' shoulders, a decidedly soft “Toby” look on his face.  _Beat, two, three …_

“I love you.” Questioning eyes, holding character pretty well. Better than Chris was doing.

 _Concentrate. Camera left. Right arm up around his neck. Deep breath. Go._  “I love you , Toby ...” _Lean in and …_

“Don't kiss me,” Lee suddenly said against his lips. Chris wasn't sure he heard right until he felt Lee's hands holding his shoulders firm, a breath away.

“Why not?” Chris pulled back an inch and saw it wasn’t “Toby” looking back at him but Lee, ever determined, with a hint of something else.

“I want to save it for tomorrow.” Lee insisted, all the while not letting go; rather incrementally leaning closer.

“Why?” Chris’ half pleading thread of a whisper hung in the air.

“Keep it fresh. ‘Toby's’ not supposed to have any experience. He needs to be taken by surprise, not just from the kiss but because of what it implies, everything it awakens in him. Right?” Lee began stroking Chris' shoulder, and Chris couldn’t be sure if it was an instinctive gesture meant to reassure or a suggestive act meant to entice.

What Chris was sure of was his unmistakable reaction. He briefly struggled to inhale and wondered, _Since when is my shoulder attached to my dick?_

“I guess...sure...whatever you say,” Chris mumbled, much more affected by Lee's proximity than he wanted to be and more disappointed than he should be.

But still Lee didn't move, at least not in the opposite direction. His intoxicating scent, his tickling breath, his warm, heavy hands were all over Chris. He was pressing against him, finger tips gliding over one of Chris' arms while the other hand made small circles along the side of his neck.

Chris swallowed, hoping his voice wasn't as shaky as his knees. “But then, um, what’s  **this**?” His voice cracked under the weight of his own arousal, his arm felt heavy and weightless at the same time on Lee's neck, and he realized he had absolutely no idea what the fuck was going on.

“This ...” Lee spoke against Chris' lips, “this is me being 'damn curious' isn’t it?”

Chris tilted his head back to see Lee's face, his snappy comeback completely thwarted by Lee's hand moving over his, across his hip, and directly to the rather painful bulge in his jeans he was trying very hard  **not**  to think about.

“Ooof” was Chris's reply as Lee palmed his cock over the buttons. Last week's warning in Chris' head abruptly transformed into a klaxon then receded as quickly to one repetitious, constant thought – _kisshimkisshimkisshim_.

“Don't kiss me ...” Lee repeated, this time as low as a growl while he flicked the top button on Chris' jeans open with his thumb.

So Chris complied, technically, if not in spirit. He wasn't going to risk angering Lee again – not when he felt half numb, half on fire, and all caution to the fucking wind. He pressed forward, face firmly in the crook of Lee's neck and just inhaled, deeply at first, then small sniffs, grazing his lips back and forth over Lee's skin, trembling to taste him. “Lee ... Mmm, you smell great.”

“Mmm ungh ...” Lee moaned, second button popping down under slightly less dextrous fingers. Chris had expected Lee's bluff to be called, the goofy flirtations to continue, and a giant what-if left behind at the end of the day. Not this, not the fervid, quivering, heavy body against his, not the increasingly more confident hand working its way into his pants, not the pull in his chest and the thrum in his veins.

Lee worked the third button open, tilting his mouth to Chris' neck.  _Christ!_  Lips brushing his ear.  _If I don't stop -_  Tongue teasing his earlobe. “Fuck!”

“Good?” A quiet rumble danced along his ear. All Chris could do was nod. “Commando, eh?” Lee half-chuckled then gasped as he felt the sticky puddle of precum pooling at the top of Chris' cock.

Chris had to see Lee's face to know. More than making sure this wasn't some kind of colossal joke, he needed proof positive Lee felt the same, felt the rush of more, the need for now, he needed to know that this ... something wasn’t just him. What he saw nearly took his breath away - beneath lust-lidded eyes, Lee was flushed and panting. This was no fucking joke. Chris could only mutely stare as Lee wrapped his thick fingers around his cock and stroked long and firm, base to tip.

“Chris?” Lee twined their fingers together with his free hand and brought Chris to his fly, zipper tight over Lee's obviously hard cock. Chris took a few seconds to comprehend the silent request, but when he did he shook off his shock long enough to catch up, using both hands to unbutton Lee's pants and deal with the zipper, eventually resting his forehead against Lee's.

Chris gasped. Lee groaned. They watched their hands stroke each other. Chris was on sensory overload and couldn't form a coherent thought if he tried. Lee's cock was thick and shiny, smooth and twitchy, and so damn hot in his hand. For a split second he wondered which felt better, the sensual vibration in his hand or the slow, firm strokes bringing him to the edge.

“Oh yeah!” Chris groaned when Lee added a twist to his wrist.  _Okay, I can do this._ “This?”

“Mnff ...Yes!” Lee huffed at the graze of palm over sensitive crown, slick yet dragging wonderfully slowly.

Muttered questions and mirrored movements, groaned and shouted responses, muffled vulgarities and half-endearments, they stood with their heads pressed together, their moist breaths mixing into one. They worked their hands in tandem, cupping tightening balls and stroking shafts, growing quicker and louder, sticky slapping as they oozed all over each other.

“Close ...” Lee panted. “Want to see you come ...”

“Yeah … yeah … YEAH ...” Chris hurried their set rhythm, drawing a long string of vowels, shudders, and finally,  _Oh my God!_  thick pulses of come from Lee. It was better than anything he’d imagined.  **This**  was being alive. Lost in watching and feeling the cock in his hand shudder and throb, the coiled spring at the bottom of Chris' spine snapped and his ears rang from a bellow he had never heard before rip through his throat. He snapped his hips convulsively, shoving into Lee's tight fist, watching his own ropy white spurts land on Lee's stomach and thighs.

Their movements slowed like a tape played backward. They both stared in fascination as they worked their hands to milk the last drop out of each other until over-fired nerves complained. Deep, calming breaths quickened the sticky mess between them to cooling.

“Mmm ...” Lee sighed, lifting his head to see Chris, still breathing heavily against him.

Chris returned the stare with a slight smile. “Still no kissing?” he softly joked.

Lee smiled back, crooking an eyebrow. “Tomorrow.”

Chris snickered, straightened his back, and asked, “Gotta towel?”


	3. Red Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension rises as The Laundry Room scene looms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Operation Lee Part 3  
> Author: cwitch  
> Fandom: Oz (TV) - RPF/S  
> Wordcount: 1615  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Characters: Christopher Meloni, Lee Tergesen  
> Pairing(s): Meloni/Tergesen  
> Genre: RPF/S  
> Warning(s): Adult language, Sexual situations  
> Beta(s): The other half of my brain, levitatethis  
> Notes: This entire series is NC-17 - It contains slash, real people, bad language, and sex. Anything prompted by a kink table will receive a separate warning.  
> Disclaimer: All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. **This never happened!**

_Wrestling. Wrestling? Something like that. Hot, slippery flesh – hard muscle? – pressed against his back and legs. A tightly coiled throb at the base of his spine, unavoidable and enveloping. More heat, pressure, friction around his cock – an external counterpoint to the breathless expansion of his chest and gut. Stretched, filled, and tearing apart with the pulse of an orgasm he can't sto-_

“RINGBEEPRINGBEEPRINGBEEPRINGBEEP”

With a start, Chris pushed himself up on one elbow, ran his hand over his face and searched for the source of the horrendous shrieking that interrupted one motherfucking good dream. His blurry vision settled on the alarm clock and phone on the nightstand conspiring to start his day on a decidedly bad note. Slapping the top of the clock, he grabbed the phone. Clearing his throat, he answered with a deliberately impolite, “Yeah?” No one deserved a polite hello this fucking early.

“Hey. It's Lee.”

Chris shifted slightly under the covers, becoming all too aware of his now very awake dick. “Hey. What's wrong?” No one, including Lee, who was a surprisingly chipper person at the break of dawn, ever called this early in the morning unless it was bad news.

“Well, nothing serious, except that our favorite asshole A.D. fucked up the call sheet. I just got the call, and I figured you wouldn't check your fax before you came in.” Much to Chris’ chagrin, Lee was wide awake and already gearing to go for the day.

“Um ... Yeah. Okay. So what's the change?” Chris scrubbed at his eyes again, attempting to force coherence while sitting up and shaking the last traces of sleep from his body. He tucked the phone under his chin while he searched for his glasses in the near-dark room.

“Got something to write on?”

“What? No. Hold on. Gimme a sec- ” The glasses didn't help much as he fumbled to quietly yank up a pair of sweat pants with one hand and walk into the hall simultaneously. “Ow, fuck!” Chris hopped on one foot down the hall, inspecting the toe he just kicked into the cold door jam.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lee chuckled.

“Trying to break my foot without waking her up. Fuck, that hurt!” Chris tested his foot and was silently thankful there was no break. He walked into the kitchen, semi-exaggeratedly limping toward a notepad on the far counter, and turned the coffeemaker on along the way. After a deep breath he felt ready to face the day. “Okay, got it. What's changed?”

“Seems  **someone**  didn't read the script to see that we have to shoot in order because I shave three scenes in. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna wear some itchy fake beard,” Lee huffed. He huffed a lot. Chris had gotten used to it, but he still found Lee's Daffy Duck outbursts funny.

“Oh man, I forgot about that, too. Good. I hate that stinky thing,” he teased. His toe still hurt, but in a few minutes he’d have a mug of steaming hot coffee to ease the ache.“Stinky? Since when am I stinky?” Lee gave his best put upon voice, making Chris chuckle in the process. 

“Only when you smoke. I thought you were gonna stop that, anyway.” If he didn't back away from the stinky jab quickly, Lee was bound to do something appropriately nasty in retaliation. And if there was one thing Chris knew with absolute certainty about Lee it was that had an unforgivable memory and an equally stubborn streak. 

“Look who's talking, Mr. 'Red Man'? If you want to talk about nasty habits-” 

 _Ugh._  Chris needed caffeine to spar this early. “It's only once in a while. And it's not stinky-” He knew he shouldn't poke the coiled viper that was Lee's tongue, but it was a dangerous jolt of fun when he did. 

“Ever gotten a whiff of your breath with that stuff? Nasty isn't the word.” Lee was proving to be in an exceptionally good mood. If it were anybody else, Chris wouldn’t think twice. But when it came to Lee, a good mood wasn’t always a good sign. Chris needed to steer the conversation and fast. 

“I guess I haven't gotten close enough to myself to notice ...” Chris drifted off, looking for his go-to travel mug in the cabinet. 

“You should give it a try it. It's very nic-” Lee quipped then stopped short. Silence. 

Hand outstretched and frozen, fingers curled around the mug’s handle, Chris fumbled for an answer. Yesterday's “curiosity” rushed a flood of memories into his brain and body so powerful he almost dropped the phone. “So, when do I have to be in?” Not exactly smooth, but it provided an out they both needed. 

“Let's see ...” Chris heard the rustling of papers being shuffled on the other end of the line and poured the much needed coffee almost to the brim of his mug. 

“Okay. Here we go. Uh, I gotta go scream at a car at 8:30. Then it’s the group shot at 10:30 … Wait, here it is. You're in make-up at 1:15. Pod scene 2:30. Great, camera up my bare ass for an hour ...” Lee was huffing again. 

“'Scream at a car'? What the fuck?” Chris asked, holding the phone beneath his chin while he copied down the new schedule. Lee sighed. 

“Dream sequence 'The Artiste' created. I gotta go lay on the hood of a car and scream at a camera man. I hope it's the same guy who's gonna be up my ass ... ” Lee had a nickname for every director; last week was 'Momma Bear.' This week was 'The Artiste.' Everyone liked Momma Bear best. 

Chris couldn't help laughing at Lee's exasperation. “Heh … You got a great ass; they probably draw straws. Just eat beans for breakfast – that'll keep him away.” 

“Funny guy,” Lee bit back his irritation. “You haven't had to be naked every week for the last two seasons or spend an hour in make-up getting rubber put on your ass every goddamn time.” 

Chris just laughed harder, decidedly trying not to think about how Lee's eyes sparkled when he was frustrated, just the way they did when he was close to com- “Yeah, well they seem to have a clothing-optional policy for me, too. I just wish it wasn't so fucking cold in there all the time.”  

“I have a 'great ass', huh?” Lee asked, switching his tone from amused to teasingly coy. It was another classic Tergesen Non Sequitur, and a good one at that. Chris did not want to think about Lee's ass right now, and he sure as hell wasn't going to think about the way it and clenched and stuttered when he —  _Stop. Nope. Hit back, catch HIM this time._  “Yup, sure do – pink, round, fuzzy – like a peach.” Chris drew out 'peach,' breathy, with a hard 'ch.' Lee stammered just long enough for Chris to compose himself and think,  _Gotcha – again._  

“I … uh … I'll remember that next time you're bitching about being hungry.” Lee stammered as Chris downed half a cup of coffee, thinking  _Game-Set-Match_. At least scalding his tonsils off might stop his heart from hammering out of his chest. Silence. 

“Well, I gotta go hit the shower so that damn rubber will actually stick to my 'great ass.' See ya later,” Lee said. Chris heard a breathless gulp followed by a drawn out hesitation of that something else again. 

“Okay. See ya later.” Chris quickly hung up and stood at the counter, staring at his shaking hands. 

“Who's like a peach?” he heard in a sleepy voice over his shoulder.

*****

 

Lee was right, that afternoon he backed ass-first into a crouched camera man, twice. He claimed it was out of modesty. Chris knew it was to keep from brushing up against his bare chest as they maneuvered in the small pod set. The mid-shot safeties of a very confused “Toby” were perfect. Chris knew Lee wasn't acting.

*****

 

Three nervous, unsettling days later Chris had spent all of his energy not thinking about Lee being naked just about every time he saw him – and jerking off like a fucking teenager. He gave little credence to the fact he was getting half hard on a near regular basis throughout the day. The self-imposed mind game he played was to convince himself he wasn't thinking about Lee at all until he saw him clean-shaven and wearing a godawful green t-shirt as he walked out of make-up toward him. He was all smiles, and it made Chris' stomach do somersaults. 

“Hey,” Lee grinned and blushed -  _blushed?_  - clapping his hand on Chris' back. “You know, I think 'The Artiste' is more nervous about this than I am.” 

“You nervous? You afraid of the 'Red Man' baby?” Chris cocked his eyebrow and pretended his nerves weren’t frayed as well. 

“What? You didn't?” Lee honestly looked worried and just a bit disappointed. 

Chris grinned. He wasn't going to make Lee squirm today. At least not verbally. “Nope, Altoids all day, I promise.” 

“Good,” Lee snickered, relief in his voice and a relaxed air in the drop of his shoulders. “As long as they aren't cinnamon. I hate cinnamon.” 

Chris reached into his pocket, rattling the tin at Lee. “Nope, minty fresh. Want one?”


	4. This Is Not A Rehearsal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beecher kisses Keller; Lee kisses Chris; art and life tangle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Operation Lee, Pt. 4  
> Author: cwitch  
> Fandom: Oz (TV) - RPF/S  
> Wordcount: 5,400  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Characters: Christopher Meloni, Lee Tergesen  
> Pairing(s): Meloni/Tergesen  
> Genre: RPF/S  
> Contains: Adult language, Sexual situations  
> Beta(s): The other half of my brain, levitatethis  
> Notes: Disclaimer: All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. This never happened!

Lee rattled the mint in his mouth against his back teeth. Chris jiggled a mason jar full of water that was supposed to be moonshine. He wished it was, but he was starting to feel loose enough from the two shots of tequila he just slammed on the cafeteria set.  _God bless Dean!_  He'd have to get him a nice bottle of Añejo when they wrapped. Chris knew he didn't have to be drunk to play drunk, but a little liquid relaxation didn't hurt this particular situation one bit. He almost – almost – wasn't thinking about how much he wanted to kiss Lee, cameras and crew be damned. He told himself to get it fucking OVER with so everything could go back to normal. They'd had a little slap-and-tickle for build up, they'd suck a little face for the job, and that was it. Back to normal.

A last check with the light meter, a once-over by make-up, and ACTION. It would be finished, and everything would go back to normal. Chris was depending on the next five minutes to flip the switch on everything.

*****

“Bitch.” Chris was referring to his traitorous heart hammering in his chest more than “Keller” was cursing his ex-wife. 

“Come here ...” Keller silently laughs, knowing his fish is firmly hooked. “Get the fuck over here.” Lee played it dead on and was so damned cute in his hesitancy that Chris kept forgetting to breathe. _Here he comes._

“I love you.”  _Jesus, he smells so good. Shit, licked his lips. Look away from his mouth. Look away from his mouth ... I bet it's hot and wet like- Damn, the beat's too long. What’s my fucking line?!_

“I love you, Toby ...” Chris half-whispered with a breathless hush. Lee's parting lips were the last thing he saw before something white and blinding burst behind his eyes.  _Holy shit. I can't breathe! He’s so fucking - How can he get hard that fast?_  He nearly stumbled over Lee's feet as he pushed Lee back against the washer, glad that the other man was trembling as obviously as he was. The tiny moans in Lee's throat vibrated against Chris' lips, threatening to completely undo his resolve.

“CUT!”

Chris jumped in confusion.

“Once more from 'I love you, Toby.' Chris, try that with both your hands just on his waist, we can't see Lee's face through the window with your arm in the way.”

“Yeah. Sure,” Chris called back, half dazed. He chanced a glance over at Lee, who gave the director a distracted wave in the affirmative but didn't look like he could talk if he tried.  _So the feeling is mutual. Good. I think ..._  Chris stared at Lee's reddened lips, swollen and shiny, while the crew reset. And he said his line. And he kissed him again.

A small part of Chris' mind was still on the job. He visualized the shot, saw the two of them pressed together from neck to knee. He saw the camera behind him catching Lee's fingers flexing into his shoulders, but missing the most important bit of information — that it was in time to the small flicks of Lee's tongue to Chris' lower lip and the jerk of his hips into Chris' pelvis. He was momentarily lost in the overwhelming eroticism of it all, the unbelievable blend of newness and unparalleled familiarity. The loud slam of the “hack's” fist against the window behind him brought him back to the task at hand.

“Fuck you!” Genuine ire propelled him for a moment.  _Focus. You don't want to hurt anyone._  “Fuck you! Motherfuckers!!!” Chris mock-wrestled with three “hacks” as they pulled “Keller” out of the room and down to The Hole. While grateful that the tussle immediately killed his sizable hard-on, he quickly prayed this would be the last take.

“CUT! Print it, that's the master. Why thank you, fellas,” The Artiste minced out the last word. Chris inwardly cringed until the crew broke out in light applause, most of them wearing expressions of genuine admiration. Shooting a glance at Lee, Chris saw a look of anger briefly flare across his face and was prepared to stop him from breaking The Artiste's jaw. Instead, Lee surprised him by leaning in close.

“I want to make you come again,” Lee whispered with a mock-casualness that belied his desire. “I’m done in an hour.”

“I'm done in two.” Chris wondered where “back to normal” went, if it ever really existed.

“I'll wait.” Lee walked off to “their pod” for the next set-up.

*****

_Getting tossed naked onto cold, wet concrete is fucking buzz kill_ , Chris thought as he heard “CUT!” Although he knew that the mold and goo of The Hole was nothing more than clean water and paint effects, the general feeling of the place made him want to get off the floor as soon as possible. He looked down at the sting he had been feeling on his chest and saw a rather deep scratch – about four inches long and bloody down his left pectoral muscle.  _Battle wounds_ , he mused with a shrug and wiped his palm over it. Reaching for his robe from the new, very cute P.A., Chris winked and walked down the hall toward the dressing rooms. He only needed one massive complication in his life at a time. A complication he just might have to give serious consideration.

*****

Chris quickly checked around the hall then knocked. No pacing or huffing greeted his visit this time, just the knob turning quickly. Lee opened the door and stepped aside to let him in. He was wearing the slightly ratty standard issue Oz bathrobe and a broad, unreadable smile.  _Christ, I hope his costume is under there._  Chris looked down and saw bare feet and calves. Lee never did anything half way. 

Giving real thought to the swirling mass of confusion and want that he'd been tucking away in the corners of his mind for the last week, Chris reflexively backed away from Lee, only to feel his shoulders thud against the door a half-step later.

“Let's do this right.” Lee spoke softly, cupping the back of Chris' neck. He pressed his body against Chris – warm and gently trembling – flattening him further against the cool door.  _This is NOT a good idea_ , Chris thought and began to say so.

The slick slide of Lee's tongue between his parted lips stopped all protestations, all common sense, all higher brain functions, and his pounding heart.  _Oh God!_  Chris tipped his head into the kiss and groaned on a shudder that ran from his lips straight to his cock. He clutched Lee's shoulders with both hands, rolled his hips, and let that thought he hadn't been thinking rush forward and cleave him open. Denial was for the weak or someone much stronger than him. He surrendered to the simple truth,  _I want him_.

Lips, teeth, tongue –  _God, the tongue_  – slick spit and hot breath undulating in waves between the two men had the door against Chris' back creaking. They kissed hard, pushing, probing, sucking - not to explore but to create and recreate the sensation in itself. Groaning, licking, grazing a lip between teeth simply to feel it, add it to the Gordian knot of stroking, sucking, mouth fucking they tied between them. Kissing became something else all together, something full of intent and meaning, something tangible yet abstract, transient. The sounds of their insatiable need grew and swelled and fed into each other the very ...  _something_  that had hung in the air so thick and liquid between them from the moment they met.

They finally pulled apart with a keening moan. Chris’ hands tangled in the top half of Lee's robe, now fallen around his elbows, while Lee's wrapped in the tie at Chris' waist, tugging Chris slowly toward him and the poor excuse for a sofa in the tiny dressing room.

“More?” Chris rumbled from somewhere so deep in his chest he didn't recognize his own voice.

“Yeah,” Lee hissed insistently, smoothing Chris' robe down his shoulders with one hand while he continued to tug him back with the other.

When Lee's calves made contact with the edge of the sofa, he gave the tie one last tug and let Chris' robe fall to the floor, raking his lust-glazed eyes over Chris' body so brazenly, so hungrily, that Chris could feel the prickling bolts of unbound desire all over his skin. He loosed a full-body shudder and yanked at the tie still holding Lee's robe up like some bizarre, ass-only loin cloth. He wanted it gone, yanking again only to pull the knot tighter and rock Lee on his feet.

“Wait. I can-” Lee's tremulous hands freed the tie and let his robe pool at his feet. Chris openly stared, letting himself really  _see_  Lee's unadorned body for the first time, noting the differences and similarities to his own, cataloging the places he wanted to taste and touch first. He drank in the flushed peachy pink skin mottled with blotchy red patches announcing his arousal; taught muscles leaping and stretching of their own accord beneath; red gold smatterings of hair that shone just a little brighter with a light coating of sweat, and the deeper, coarse auburn framing the thick, blunt cock that enticingly swayed and bobbed.  _I. Want. Him. Now._  Chris felt powerless to control the thought, giving in to the desire that edged him toward desperation, rising from deep within.

Lee gulped audibly, “Chris ...” his voice was low, wavering, “What do- Have you- Do you- ?” He drifted off and lowered his eyes, caught between embarrassment and his equally furtive need.

“Nope. Just what we did ...” Chris stepped forward, hands light against Lee's waist as he pressed himself against him.  _God!_  Hot, hard, slick skin-to-skin contact shook sensitized nerve endings and managed to shock them still. They stood together, absorbing each other's tremors until Chris spoke again. “You?”

“Uh unh. Same ...” Lee admitted, licking his lips as he rested his attention on Chris' mouth.

“Well …” Chris thought aloud, daunted by the prospect of the blind leading the blind, but unwilling and unable to shake loose the raw want that made him tremble against Lee.

Lips curling up at the corners, eyes bright, Lee took Chris' face in his hands and kissed him so deeply, so thoroughly, that they broke apart with a single rush of air into their deprived lungs. Lee held Chris by the shoulders, spun him a half turn, and pushed him down to lie back on the sofa. As he bent to cover Chris' body with his own he said, “We'll figure it out.”

“You think?” Chris whispered, trying to stretch out on what was little more than a love seat covered with dull plaid upholstery. With his head on the arm and his legs draped over the end, he just barely fit. Lee settled over him, holding his weight on his hands and knees, breathless and staring so intensely at Chris that he felt unexpectedly  _shy._

Chris attempted to breathe deeply and trembled, finally lowering his gaze to Lee's heaving chest, watching his pecs start to quiver under the exertion of holding himself up.  _What do you want, Lee? Anything. Touch me. Anything. Just prove to me it’s not wrong to want this as much as I do? Fuck. What do I do now?_  Taking a chance, Chris angled his head forward, not willing to give up quite this easily when he was so close, and pressed his lips against Lee's neck, again inhaling the scent that so often distracted and confused him. Lee gasped sharply and rubbed his cheek against Chris', the spell of uncertainty broken.

“What do you like?” Lee breathed in tightly as he sucked Chris’ earlobe between his teeth.

Chris was unable to form a clear thought, let alone rattle off a list of erotic proclivities.  _Does he ever stop thinking?_  he wondered, a dry chuckle catching in his throat.

Lee licked a slow, wet line along his jaw to his chin, gave it a sucking kiss. He pulled his head back to look at Chris and asked again, “Tell me, Chris. What do you like?”  _Holy shit, he really wants me to ANSWER?_

Chris ran his hands up Lee's now-trembling arms, half to revel in the twitches and jerks through the strong chords, half to give himself a chance to form a sentence.

“Aw hell, I don't know … um, usually everything, but y'know …” Chris stuttered. Lee bore the most beautiful, amazing, open smile, and the reality of the situation struck Chris like a punch to the gut. _He's really into this! Or me? Oh God! Just fucking touch me!_  He trailed his hands up to Lee's shoulders and gently pulled. “C'mere.”

“I'll squish you.”

“I'm not a chick; you won't squish me.” Chris chuckled, trying to hide the sudden, disturbing thought that Lee most certainly wasn't a woman, either. He ran his hairy calf over the back of Lee's for emphasis.

“Oh, yeah ...” They watched each other. Lee let his body drop slowly, eventually resting his full weight on Chris. Their legs tangling and eyes unblinking, they gasped together. Lee's body was notably hotter, heavier than a woman's. It was a comforting, solid weight that matched his own.

“Kiss me. Just keep kissing m-” Lee cut Chris off with complete compliance. He dove in, pressed Chris' lips open in a smooth slide and began working that long, strong tongue through his mouth. Chris groaned, arched up into him, stretching his jaw and taking a deep, firm suck. He bit down, grazing his teeth along the pebbled muscle as he pulled to the tip.  _So that he likes._  The low, “Crazy Toby” growl was proof.

Lee's head snapped back. Chris watched his face roll through shock, hunger, lust, and a no holds barred expression that screamed  _Game on, Motherfucker!_  His pupils grew to black holes, leaving glittering blue rings around black mirrors where Chris saw himself, pained and pleading, reflected back.

“Everything,” Lee hissed, shifting his hips enough to slide his cock against Chris'. Erect and leaking since he walked in Lee's dressing room, he clenched his legs around Lee's just to keep from coming instantly.

“Fuck!” Chris' managed through gritted teeth. “More!” He grunted and pushed up, hard. Lee's head reared back again. A smooth, hot trickle of precum from Lee slicked up his cock, and whatever restraint he felt vanished on a gasping breath. “More!” Chris' hands roamed and scratched and kneaded along Lee's arms and back, trying to get every last inch of him that he could.

“More!” became Chris' refrain as Lee sucked and bit on his ears and neck. “More!” when Lee's strong, searching hands mapped their way along his body. “More!” when his fingers circled and plucked at Chris' taut nipples. Their hips rocked and knocked together, cocks rolling and seeking contact then slipping away in the limited space on the sofa.

With a frustrated jolt, Lee pushed himself up enough to untangle their legs and squeeze his thighs between Chris'. Slighted on space and awkwardly tangled, they continued fighting to keep from rolling onto the floor, so Chris repositioned and flipped his right leg up to the back of the sofa, hooking his ankle over the top.

Lee's strength always surprised him, though it never should have. But all the same, he gave a start when Lee's broad hands grabbed his hips and hauled him back down the sofa. Just as Lee was settling himself he stopped and very deliberately, very slowly, raked his blunt fingernails up to the top of Chris' left thigh and over the small butterfly tattoo that flitted there, searching his face for a reaction. Chris' back arched, his hips canted, and he moaned long and low. He looked down to see Lee make another pass over the decorated yet obviously ignored patch of smooth skin, smugly pleased with himself as Chris moaned again.

 _Holy hell!_ Chris gasped in amazement. He knew that sensations on the skin of his tattooed arm felt different from the other, but no one, in all the years he had had the damned thing, no one had gleaned the pleasure to be given from simple stroking.

“Every. Thing.” Lee whispered and settled back down between Chris' legs with a long, slow push, that aligned their cocks like sticky puzzle pieces clicking into their match. Again Chris needed to tense and gnash his teeth to stave off his orgasm. Having jumped headlong into a pool of hedonistic fulfilment, he decided that  _If it was this good, this **right** , this fast_, he wasn't going to finish it off any time soon. He hoped.

Attempting to slow him and downshift their accelerating, reckless desire, Chris tangled his hands through the curls at the back of Lee's neck and pulled him into a string of languid, deep, quenching kisses. They rocked together, pushing hips and lips in a cadence that soothed rather than excited their speeding arousal.

Once satisfied he'd delayed his orgasm for the time being, though not helped by the wonderful hard throb of Lee's cock or the soft, slick tickle of his balls, Chris began to explore Lee with his hands. The shocking sensitivity that appeared when he first held Lee's cock in his hand returned. His fingertips sparked alive over Lee's skin, registering slight changes in temperature and texture that deepened and quickened the rhythmic pulse of  _moremoremore._  He felt almost faint from both the bright light of Lee's responsiveness and the dizzying freedom of acknowledging his own desire.

Chris' mind swirled with the delicious incongruities – solid yet pliant, rough yet soft – shifting beneath his hands. This body, this man's body, fit to him, fit for him, and his own responded with such instinctive recognition that panic rushed down his spine and out his toes. It shouldn't, couldn't, be this right, this insanely hot, to have a naked man grinding his rock hard dick into him, digging his hands into Chris' body like he wanted to tear him into pieces, whispering and moaning filthy things in his ear, doing his damned best to  _take_  him.

No one, ever, in any way,  _took_  Chris. He took; he drove; he seduced. Anger and determination to regain some fucking control bucked Chris' head and hips back in a powerful thrust. Lee only moaned louder and ground harder until Chris none too gently pulled Lee's face to his.

“Suck my cock?” It had to be a question. He had to make Lee think he wanted it rather than needed it. And he desperately needed it, needed to see him on his knees, re-framing this in terms Chris' still clouded and confused self-image understood.

Startled and gulping, Lee studied Chris' face with an openness that astounded Chris. He regretted having asked, having said anything, having let this happen at all. Then Lee answered.

“I'll sure give it a try,” he gave Chris a crooked smile and, licking his lips, pushed himself back up on his arms.

 _He was supposed to say no. What the-?_  Chris began to stop him when Lee's expression shifted serious and he grabbed Chris' face, kissing him quickly then pulling back, waiting for his full attention.

“One thing,” Lee’s voice was hoarse with exertion and need. “One condition. This isn't one sided. If it is, I'll leave now.”

“N- no. It isn't,” Chris blurted out so quickly he hoped Lee wouldn’t mistake it for thoughtless placation.

Lee paused, then said more firmly, “I'm fucking serious. I'm not interested in some kind of rehearsal.”

“No. I wouldn't. Maybe we should just ...” Chris felt chastened, confused, and about as weak with longing as he could imagine possible.

With a worried wrinkle of his stubbed nose, Lee leaned forward to swallow Chris' words, offering understanding and forgiveness in the way he licked away Chris’ second guesses and doubts about asking a man, a man who he thought until recently was  _just_  a coworker and buddy, to give him a blow job. He was knocked out of his haze when Lee sat up and pulled Chris' shoulders with him, urging him to turn and sit properly on the still-purgatorial sofa.

“I'm guessing it'll be easier this way,” was Lee's response to Chris' puzzled expression, slipping down Chris' body and to his knees, comfortably wedging himself between Chris' jumpy thighs.

“Listen, you don't ...” Lee arched his head up and stopped Chris' protest with a long, slow, determined fucking of Chris' mouth with his obscenely agile tongue. They finally parted with sticky slurp. Lee placed a gentle hand in the middle of Chris' chest and pushed him back, sucking in deep breaths, steeling himself against this new thing Chris still couldn’t believe he’d asked for and was about to be so freely given.

In another breathtaking example of Lee never doing anything half way, his determined mouth worked its way down Chris' chest, his breath leaving cool trails where wet lips and tongue tasted. Raspy rumbles in Lee's throat vibrated and shook Chris' body until he felt broad hands across his hips still him, hold him firmly in place. Teeth grazed a hipbone, and a long, low “Ohh!” rolled through his chest and left his head heavy against the cushion.

“Shh!”

“Wha-?” startled, Chris lifted his head.

“Not so loud,” Lee smirked. “Thin walls. Keep it down.”

“That's,” Chris steadied his breathing, “officially impossible,” raising an eyebrow in the direction of his dick, now precariously tucked beneath Lee's stubbled chin.

“Oh yeah, guess so.” He smiled back and looked down, licking his lips. “Well, then ...”

Chris' breathing slowed then stopped all together as he watched Lee's tongue unfurl and slide slowly, wet and hot, up the underside of his cock. Twice, three times, then four, bathing and teasing him with a slick heat so obscenely perfect that it took six swipes before his burning lungs forced a breath with a ragged gasp.

“You okay?”

All Chris could do was nod and stare. Apparently satisfied with his answer, Lee rubbed his lips over the thoroughly wet head and muttered “Good.” With no more warning than a deep inhalation, Lee parted his lips and dug his fingernails into Chris’ hips, wrapped his mouth around Chris’ cock and worked his way down the shaft. Better than half way down he pulled back and repeated the movement, over and over again. Chris focused on swallowing his own groans and tensing each muscle in turn to keep his hips from fucking up into what was turning out to be the best cock-sucking he'd ever had. Chris dared look down again. 

Earnest, lust-blown eyes, reddened cheeks and a litany of grunting, rhythmic moans around the base of his cock had him near coming. He couldn't have moved, spoken, or stopped if his life depended on it. He was helpless. And he wanted this to go on forever, happily held captive between broad hands and a hot, sucking mouth. His head twisted and hands clutched at the ragged cushions while he desperately tried to stay quiet. He almost succeeded until a hand that held his hip raked blunt nails over his thigh.

“Ohgod yeah!” he rasped, watching Lee watching  _him._  He didn't know how someone could fucking smirk with a cock in his mouth, but Lee did it, rolling and tugging Chris balls in his palm while fingertips tapped and pressed behind them.

“Stop … I'mgonna … gonna ...” Chris tried to warn him as the first sparks of the fiery snap at the base of his spine flared and spread down his legs and through his balls. Lee drove his head down, swallowing faster and harder around his cock.

Chris stomped his feet down flat on the floor, arched his back and came – nearly choking on his own cries – jerking his hips frantically. He felt Lee trembling between his legs, pressing down and swallowing harder, refusing to be thrown free until he had sucked Chris dry. A rumbling groan that must have been his seemed to travel in two directions, folding in on itself like waves somewhere deep within him.

Panting and twitching Chris looked down and Lee, eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration, slowed and sighed as he determinedly licked Chris' softening cock and balls clean.

With great effort, Chris leaned forward and clumsily hauled Lee up, nearly into his lap. They kissed deep and long, Chris licking at Lee's lips and chin, tasting himself and that sweet, smoky apple that always seemed to follow in Lee's wake.

“Holy fuck ...” Chris breathed into Lee's mouth, pressing their foreheads gently together. “That was … “

“Mmm, yeah?” Lee panted, a question hidden in his halting reply.

“Definitely … 'yeah'.” Chris nuzzled Lee's neck, feeling his pulse slow beneath his tongue. His hands explored broad shoulders, lean thighs, and tights abs until he was stopped by a firm grasp of his wrist.

“Don't.” Lee said, sounding slightly panicked. “I mean you don't hav-”

Chris fought the restraint, curious and slightly annoyed at being stopped. “Let me. I want to-” Chris stuttered and looked down as his hand slid through a quickly cooling smear of come on Lee's stomach. “You … you came?”

“Yup,” Lee answered in an embarrassed whisper that barely escaped his lips.

“I thought you'd never … I mean ... with a guy ...”

“Nope. Never did.”

“But you …?”

“Yes. Okay? Now look who's talkative. Just leave it, all right?” Lee started to get off of Chris' lap, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Whoa. Stop it.” Chris yanked him back down, eager to reverse the sudden the downward turn between them. “C'mere.”

“What?” Lee mustered a halfway decent glare despite being naked, flushed, and covered in his own come. Chris' smile immediately had Lee reflexively putting up walls. “You think it's funny?”

Aware of the unintended condescension his reaction was implying, Chris grew serious and pulled Lee in for clumsy, teeth clashing, breath stealing kiss. Leaving Lee thoroughly stunned, he pulled back and said as flatly as possible, “Funny? That's the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen.” His voice cracked, failing him, but he continued, “You suck my cock 'til my head blows AND you come all over yourself? God DAMN baby, I ...”

Lee, now flushed pink to the tips of his ears, dipped his head to Chris' shoulder. “Well, I liked it. Okay?”

“Fuck yeah it’s 'okay'! If that was the first time you … holy fuck ...”

“Listen, can we finish the review later?” Lee stood, somewhere between bashful appreciation and irritation at the unsolicited attention. He raised an angry eyebrow when Chris grabbed his hips.

“Where you going?”

Lee grabbed at his wrists to pull free of his grip, but didn't step away. “To get a towel? I'm a sticky mess here!” He turned only to be stopped again.

“Wait!” With a Cheshire grin Chris leaned forward and licked a slow path from the top of Lee's cock to his navel.

Lee jumped back, looking horrified. “Eww, yuck, it's cold!”

Chris chuckled, loosened his grip, and licked his lips. “Mmm, not bad … better warm I bet.” 

Lee didn't answer, but Chris saw his shoulders shift with a suppressed chuckle as he approached a small cabinet. “Here.” Chris ducked the towel that was hurled at his head. “You're a bit gooey yourself,  _Baby._ ”

Chris felt a flush that started somewhere around his ribs rise with dizzying speed at Lee's cocked eyebrow and gentle teasing. Naked, sweaty, and attempting to semi-discretely mop the fan of semen from his stomach, Lee managed enough composure for one of his best Tergesen Non Sequiturs: a bull's eye at Chris' unintended but no less genuine endearment. As they shared a smile Chris thought,  _I love it when he does that._  Lee's smile turned to beaming when they both realized Chris had said it aloud. 

*****

The too narrow, too short sofa afforded some rest and touching beneath a blanket; Chris refused to think of it as cuddling, but it was nice – warm, non-demanding. Time to enjoy his buzzing skin and think about absolutely nothing. Then Lee sat up.

“We better get dressed and get out of here. They're about done with dailies.”

Lee dressed quietly while Chris donned his robe and tried not to fidget. Chris thought,  _I like this. I really-_ then just as quickly  _didn't_ want to think about how much he liked it.

“So, um … whatcha doin' tonight?” he asked Lee, maybe a little less noncommittally than ever before.

“Well, I have an exciting night planned: Chinese take-out, learning my lines, and signing the divorce papers sitting on my dining room table. You?” Chris looked truly startled.

“I don't really have … uh … ”

Lee smiled, walked up to Chris, and kissed him softly. He whispered, “Yes, you do. You need to go home to your wife and think about what the hell it is that you want.” He grabbed his helmet and jacket. Without looking at Chris, he opened the door to usher him out.

Chris turned to him as he left. “But, what about …?”

A little sad, a little hopeful, Lee smiled. “You'll figure it out. Goodnight.” He waved over his shoulder as he walked down the hall.

Chris stood in front of the closed door, in the empty hallway and thought,  _That’s the complication I don't want to think about._


	5. Thinking Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath - Lee's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Operation Lee, Pt. 6  
> Author: cwitch  
> Fandom: Oz (TV) - RPF/S  
> Wordcount: 2500  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Characters: Christopher Meloni, Lee Tergesen  
> Pairing(s): Meloni/Tergesen  
> Genre: RPF/S  
> Warning(s): (highlight to reveal) Masturbation, Toys  
> Contains: Adult Language, Sexual Situations  
> Beta(s): The other half of my brain, levitatethis  
> Notes: This chapter is dedicated to my muse, aletter2elise, without whom many of my naughtiest dreams would remain silent. The particular toy mentioned is from the Nuskin line.  
> Disclaimer: All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. This never happened!

Lee’s helmet landed with a loud thump on top of the manila folder on the table. It had arrived last week from his lawyer, but he still hadn't opened it, didn't want to think about what it contained – his failure, in writing, for the future ex-Mrs. Tergesen and anyone else to see. Right there, probably on the front page – _Irreconcilable Differences – No Fault._ Bullshit. Legalese for _you fucked up; your career was more important; you were always distracted and never happy._ Never happy. Ironic. Lee was happy now, and he almost wanted to laugh.

Much needed sustenance on auto-dial; he ordered Kung Pao chicken and tofu vegetables. He’d promised himself he'd lay off the carbs until after shooting. There was enough temptation to the contrary in the form of the six-pack of Tsing Tao that he’d unthinkingly ordered. What could he say — he was all about covering the bases. He ran his tongue over his teeth and imagined how excellent a beer would taste right now — _almost as good as Chr— where the hell did **that** come from?_ He ran his hand through his helmet-flattened hair and swallowed as his sense memory kicked in; little sparks flicked at him from all sides. He didn’t bother denying it felt good. Hell, it felt better than good; it was a fucking incredible fantasy come true. And he wanted more.

*****

The laundry list wrote itself in his head: dinner – satisfactory, even if they went a bit light on the peppers. Beer and King Crimson on the stereo – excellent. Three beers in and Lee could finally think again. Or more to the point, let himself think again. _What the fuck **do** you think about your first homosexual experience, anyway?_ He shook his head and chuckled. It wasn't exactly his first, was it? It was his … second? Third? Another list unfolded in his mind. Was he supposed to count that first time in the dressing room? Yeah, it counted. He had gotten so hard he didn't even wait until he got home to jerk off. Not that it mattered. When he got home he did it again, completely abandoned to the idea of Chris holding — just holding — his dick.

 _Chris. His dick. My dick. Fuck!_ He stood up a little too fast and felt the third beer slam through the top of his head. Taking a few breaths to get steady, he gathered the bottles and cartons, leaving them on the counter on the way to the fridge and a bottle of water. He downed the first one in three gulps and grabbed another. He didn't need a hangover on top of everything else that was clouding his head.

*****

The few lines he had were firmly in his head, and there wasn't shit on television this late. He really should sleep, but an antsy, fluttering of … _something_ kept pulling him up to his feet, pacing, as if subconsciously trying to work out an unanticipated jigsaw puzzle. He looked out the window and briefly daydreamed about a bigger paycheck and a better view. Maybe next year. He walked into the kitchen and threw away all but the leftover vegetables. Not a bad breakfast, all told. He scratched his balls and realized how sticky he was. A shower was definitely in order. But he hesitated, wanting that smell, _his_ smell to linger.

He looked at the phone again. It had been deafeningly quiet all night. He rifled through his jacket pockets for his cell phone. He didn't think he'd ever remember that he carried the damn thing. No calls there, either. _All's quiet on the Eastern Village front._ He chuckled again. Not his best joke, but one that distracted him for about – no, make that exactly – half a second. Then he thought about Chris again.

“You’ve **got** to be fuckin’ kidding me?!” Lee pulled his t-shirt off over his head and threw it in the general direction of the bedroom. Maybe a shower would calm him down. He sure as hell didn't need to be staring at the phone at midnight like a twelve year old, worried that he didn't call and knowing he probably wouldn’t.

*****

The hot spray quickly loosened tense muscles and filled the small bathroom with steam. Lee sighed and turned, resting his head on his forearms, the water pounding at his back and washing away all the residual tension coursing within. He relaxed for approximately – make that exactly – thirty seconds before he thought of Chris again. More precisely, he thought of Chris' cock and how it felt on his tongue, between his lips. The way it pulsed with his heart and jerked when he came. He remembered how it vibrated against his soft palate, the abrupt change in texture from the soft, spongy head to the so-hard shaft covered in silky skin. He laughed, feeling almost giddy. His ex was right, he **was** a cocksucker. He just didn't know it when she was hurling obscenities and dishes at him six months earlier.

The unavoidable, brutally honest truth, once his literal and figurative worlds collided, was that he liked it and wanted to do it again. That thought earned another laugh, and he ducked his head under the water once more. Who was he kidding? He **loved** it; he fucking came when he felt Chris start to buck and shudder in his mouth. Absolutely nothing about it turned him off or disgusted him; he never thought of not swallowing, it didn't even occur to him until he was making his way home. _Am I gay?_ He froze mid-shampoo. No, if I was gay, I'd have done it long before now, right? He thought about all of the chances he'd had, especially in drama school, to lead or follow that route (the opportunities had been varied and plentiful), but it never happened. He simply hadn't been interested.

Rinsing his hair, he wondered if this seemingly abrupt sexual about face amounted to a reaction to his divorce. People did stranger things than blow a guy over stress and heartbreak. But he wasn't that stressed, and his heartbreak had long since dulled. He'd drowned his sorrows in plenty of scotch and waitresses over a year ago. And the guy across the hall made it no secret that Lee was welcome any time to dive in his particular pool. _So why now? Why Chris?_ Hell if he knew. Soaping his chest and shoulders, he shook his head at the absolutely ridiculous, hypocritical bullshit he’d thrown at Chris. “Think about what the hell it is that you want?” Was he out of his fucking mind? How could he ask Chris what he wanted when he couldn’t answer the question himself?

He began working his way up and down his legs with the sudsy cloth and reconsidered what lying to himself was going to get him. He knew exactly what he wanted. No doubt about it. He wanted more of Chris, every and any which way he could get him. He wanted to suck his cock and make him moan and writhe, jack him off and rub off against him. He wanted to fuck Chris. And, appropriately, while washing his ass he thought, _I want him to fuck me._

*****

In his bedroom, naked and dry but for the towel he was rubbing through his hair, he sat on the bed and took a contemplative breath. He wanted Chris to fuck him, simple as that, and he refused to concern himself with where Chris’ wife fit into the picture. He supposed that made him a colossal shit who should be racked with guilt. Except he wasn’t. What was worse, he didn't feel anything but a desperate, urgent desire to take what he wanted, consequences be damned.

And that mere thought made him hornier and more sex obsessed than he'd been since he was a teenager. A full-body shudder jolted him and settled right in his dick. Lee looked down and shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” He briefly wondered how many guys actually talked to their dicks. Probably more that would admit.

He shut off the main light and returned to the bed, pulling back the covers. He started to throw the damp towel toward the bathroom but stopped and dropped it on the nightstand. _What the hell, maybe I'll get some sleep._ Opening the bottom drawer and lifting out the false bottom beneath his socks, he smiled and silently thanked Creative College Girlfriend #3. He may be a complete novice with men, but he knew **exactly** what he was asking for when he wanted, even yearned for, Chris to fuck him.

After about a month of coaxing on her part and access to the finest female ass in the Performing Arts Department on his, she convinced him that he shouldn't “deny pursuits of pleasure just because bourgeois standards told him parts of his body were taboo.” Lofty words from a girl with buckteeth who half-heartedly smoked Gauloises and wholeheartedly fucked him with a strap-on dildo. He smiled and thought he should dig up her address and send flowers.

Necessities in hand, he lay back and simply breathed – breathed in the conjured scent of Chris and memories of their afternoon, exhaling lingering doubts and inhibitions. Every minute detail returned quickly, bathing him in warmth and longing that grew stronger with each sweet snippet of memory. As much as he'd had of Chris, it wasn't nearly enough. He wanted all of him, over, around, inside him. He drew his hands teasingly along his chest and gave them over to Chris, letting fantasy and memory take shape as they ceased to be his own.

Chris' touch was warm and dry along his skin, raising the fine hairs along his pecs and around his nipples. The soft pads of his fingertips circled and soothed his skin before a pluck or pinch, then another gentle swipe. He licked his fingers. Now they were Chris' tongue, laving and teasing while soft breath cooled wet trails in ever-wider strokes toward his stomach. Lee raised his head and blew gently; Chris' warm breath skipped down his chest.

He licked his hand again and Chris' tongue circled his navel and smoothed the golden hair below it, teasing out to his hipbones, circling in the hollows, tracing creases in muscle. Lee's breath came quicker and harder. Another thorough licking of his fingers, and Chris' tongue multiplied, tracing lines this way and that, drawing paths inside his thighs, against his balls, around the base of his cock – Chris teased him, he teased himself, with delicious torment.

Creative College Girlfriend #2 taught him everything about the tease, the touch, the delay just before the violent insistence of NOW! She deserved flowers, too.

He brushed the backs of his hands (Chris' hands) against either side of his cock, not firmly enough to grasp. Just a brush, a kiss of a caress as hesitant as he imagined Chris would be. Lee closed his eyes and saw Chris – the slightest smile turning up the corners of his mouth, determined, shining eyes, trembling hands. Breath huffing so fast it created the purr of a big cat, a continuous rumble in the broad chest pressed against his thighs.

Licking his fingers again, they were Chris' tongue licking fine lines over and around his balls, firmer up the center, gently against the swell, firmer again against the soft behind, stroking lightly at the seam that held him together and divided him in two. He felt beside his hip, found the bottle and flicked the cap. He'd tucked it against his body to warm. Slippery, barely thick lube drizzled over his fingers; it felt like Chris' precum. He swirled a bit over his over fingers; Chris' cockhead was pliant and hot against his fingertips.

He reached with his dry hand for another pillow, wedging it beneath his lower back and hips. Not-So Creative College Girlfriend #1 insisted on a lot of pillows. Lee never saw the need at the time. She'd had a point. He'd send her a card.

His slicked fingertips were Chris', questing yet uncertain, and he traced them behind his balls and lower still, trembling in the crease between his leg and ass, circling and retreating. His other hand stroked behind his thigh and down his cheek when he lifted his leg, and Chris kneaded thick muscle, pulling away then toward his center. _Peach_ Lee thought and smiled. Chris returned to his teasing touch then grew bold, tracing, slipping two fingers around and over his hole.

“Yes,” and a groan rolled through Lee's chest. His wet, flat fingers, Chris tongue now, pressed around and over, not yet inside, his relaxing pucker. With firm, warm, and deliciously wet caresses, Chris worked him slow and steady until Lee was pressing against that tongue, raised leg wobbling though he held it up, eager to open farther for Chris.

A wave of the most urgent need began rising and rolling from deep within him, and Lee searched under his hip again. He felt bereft, quickly lubing up the rubber cock that was in all respects realistic save for the large oval ring, rather than a flared base, at the end. He closed his eyes, trying to slow his breathing and relax for Chris, who he envisioned poised above him, sweaty, straining and smiling, wanting him entirely and without question.

The warm head circled and pressed against him. He pushed against it, rocking his hips, taking the time to stretch and relax the muscles throughout his legs and abdomen. He heard Chris softly ask, _Do you want this? Do you want me?_ He felt the rubber in his hand and heard his own voice reply, “Yes, I want you. Please ...” and Chris pressed his cock into him, slowly, steadily, and Lee opened completely for him, just as he had in every dream.

Legs lifted, skin sweat slick, he fucked himself and Chris fucked him. It was so tight, he felt so full, so nearly complete – he wanted to cry. But his arm pumped faster and Chris thrust faster, and the angle was perfect to brush him deep inside and make his cock leak and jump. He was almost there, rising to that intangible place. So close that, if he closed his eyes, he could feel the heat and weight of Chris' body covering his own. And then Chris was there – and they fucked; Chris fucked him harder, deeper than Lee ever thought possible, and it was _everything._

Lee cried out and cried, shattering the illusion. He jerked his cock roughly, coming with a wild gush over his stomach and chest. _Chris, Chris, Chris,_ spilled out in choked sobs over and over again.


	6. Real Real Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite song!fic, but see Van Morrison - Real Real Gone for "Chris' Song" throughout the next few chapters. The aftermath, Chris' POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Operation Lee, Pt. 7  
>  **Author:**  
>  **Fandom:** Oz (TV) - RPF/S  
>  **Wordcount:** 1850  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Christopher Meloni, Lee Tergesen  
>  **Pairing(s):** Meloni/Tergesen  
>  **Genre:** RPF/S  
>  **Contains:** Adult language, Sexual situations  
>  **Beta(s):** The other half of my brain, .   
>  **Notes:** This chapter is for my muse .  
>  **Disclaimer:** All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. **This never happened!**  
> 

 

Chris tried his best not to think about Lee as he drove home. During the late, overcooked fish dinner with his wife and her friends he tried not to let his mind wander to the man who wasn’t there. For the last few days, whenever he excused himself to his office under the (always genuine at the time) pretence that he needed to study his script he desperately willed himself not to think about him. He tried so hard he wondered if he was causing himself serious psychological, even physical, damage. 

As he stood in front of the half open window, gasping in the cool air, a breeze carried with it the faintest hint of _his_ scent. It swirled around him and warmed his body. In the next second anxiety thrust a fresh wave of nausea over him and he rushed for the bathroom.

“You okay, honey?” his wife called from the hallway.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little off. Probably the fish.” He white-knuckled the edge of the sink, fighting back the scream, _NO! I’m the fucking asshole who just threw everything we promised each other before God out the window!!!_

“You sure? Need me to get you anything?”

He clenched his teeth,  swallowed, and took a deep breath. “No, no. I'm good. Just going to jump in the shower. It was a tough day.”

“You're not light-headed or anything, are you? You could slip-” Her voice came from the other side of the door now. _Did I lock it? Damnit!_ Chris gave himself the once-over in the mirror. At least 'GUILTY' wasn't flashing in neon across his forehead. He opened the door and stuck just his head through.

“Honey, I'm okay. Really. You should go out. Have a good time. I'm just going to shower and hit the sack. I'm feeling better already. I swear.” _And if she believes this ...I’m a goddamn liar, and she didn’t ask for any of this._

“Okay. If you're sure … Karen wants to go around the corner for a drink. 'Man troubles' and all.” 

Strangely, she didn’t seem to want to fuss over him like she normally did when he was under the weather. Instead of reading too much into it he counted his blessings. He had no idea how long he could keep himself from confessing everything, not when she was looking at him with such concern and all he wanted was forgiveness.

“I'm sure. Go. Have fun. Play therapist.” He mustered a small grin, ignoring the nagging question about Karen’s sudden spate of “man troubles” when there hadn’t been a man in sight in ages.

“Okay. We won't be more than an hour, I guess.” She leaned in for a quick kiss.

Chris jerked his head back, knocking it on the door jam. “Uh … barf breath, need to brush,” he explained hastily, paranoia insisting she’d be able to smell Lee all over him.

“Lovely,” she deadpanned, wrinkling her nose, then gave him a sympathetic smile. “If you’re sure you don’t mind ... I won’t be too late.” She ran a quick hand over his hair and made her way back down the hall, greeting another muffled voice.

Chris closed the door and locked it, then leaned against the wall, certain the weight of the world was going to split him in two. _What the FUCK am I doing?_

*****

Chris held his hands on either side of his jaw, pressed hard, and pushed up, over and over, attempting to stop the clanging of his brain, throbbing painfully. Everything was too loud, too bright. Neither the steam nor the almost scalding water of the pulsing shower were doing any better  in the bid to shut up his brain. _What the fuck have I done?_ repeated over and over into an incoherent panic. He wanted to puke, and cry and – God help him – see Lee.

_You asshole! You stupid motherfucker! You cheated on your wife!_ He slapped at the wet tile, half turned, then slapped again. _What the fuck were you thinking? With a **guy** ... who you work with....who’s your friend_! “Asshole!” Chris shouted to himself, to Lee, to God or whatever threw this Class A fucking Complication – Capital C – in his path. He scrubbed his hands over his face again, hard, and leaned forward under the pounding spray.

_Had to let your dick do the thinking, didn't ya? Why did-_ Chris stopped mid-thought and lifted his head. _Why the fuck was your dick involved at all? **Jesus Christ.**  No tits, no pussy. Since when do **you**  like cock_? He'd had enough offers and attention over the years to qualify him as a circuit boy, but he never bit. Not once. He had to wonder, _Why now? Why **him**?_

A fresh blast of steam carried the last of Lee's smoky apple scent around his face. His fucking actor's sense memory kicked in and spread warmth throughout his chest. Chris sighed. Instinctively, he grabbed the soap and started scrubbing. _There’s an explanation for everything. It’s the work. It’s too intense. It’s more than I thought it was going to be. It’s fucking with my head. It will clear up soon enough. I just need to get away from being in Keller’s head for a bit. Off set. Away from-_ He was half-satisfied with his rationalization until he thought of all the other scenes he'd played. He'd done intense love before; he'd done theater, live and in person over and over, not just a few takes and you move on. Not once. No leading ladies, no office romances for him. _Why the fuck was this different?_

He wondered if he analyzed it long enough if it would go away. _Great, now you sound like Lee_. Chris had to laugh at that. He always laughed at Lee. No, he laughed **with** him. Something about the guy made him smile at even a raised eyebrow. With Lee he knew a joke, or better yet, some snarky remark, was just a second away once the eyebrow went up. He found himself watching him, sometimes intently, waiting for the upward pull of the lip or tilt of his head, just so he wouldn't miss the next joke. It was often at someone else's expense, but it was funny as shit. He'd never had so much fun.

_You sure have been having fun lately, haven’t you?_ “Fuuuuck!” Chris groaned, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes and lurched forward, trying to will the flood of arousal back, far away from where it determined to settle. _Okay, it happened. So what? It’s just one more experience to draw on. That's it. Never again. She doesn’t need to know, and you can fucking live with it._  As soon as the thought coalesced he winced at the deep ache in his gut, sharp and stabbing. He sucked in racked breath like a sob and knew it would take more than a half-hearted resolution to get him off this crash course.

No matter what he or his conscience thought about this unplanned leap into homosexual activity – _Say it! You want to fuck this **man!**_  - his body was leading the way with resounding approval. If he was tormented by guilt and confusion the moment Lee said “Good night,” he was fully bedeviled and possessed by the continuous, full-body replay that hadn't stopped throwing sparks, shudders, and varying degrees of an erection at him all night.

“Motherfuck it!” he grumbled, almost resigned to having yet another goddamn hard-on. Chris groaned. _You lived through thirteen once, you can do it again …_ He thought practicality may be the only way out. Jerk off, go to bed, and tell Lee tomorrow it was great, but no more. He couldn't leave anything unspoken and assumed, not with the smile Lee gave him when he left; curled lips suggesting ... something different, a stark contrast to the normally serious way Lee carried himself, always controlled, even when joking.

_He's serious when he fucks too..._ Chris muffled an exasperated groan. He grabbed the bar of soap again, lathered up his hands, and decided to get to business while he still had some resolve. Eyes shut tightly, as if he were expecting pain, Chris gave his cock and balls a few utilitarian swipes with the soap. He shuddered and clenched his ass tight, more sensitive to touch than he'd expected. _This shouldn't take long, then. No, it should, since you -_ \- His eyes opened, and for an instant he could see his cock in Lee's mouth, slick and shiny, disappearing behind rosy lips then slipping out again. And again, all the while Lee's eyes glittered up at him, almost fully black but for the bright blue-green ringing his pupils.

He groaned and leaned back against the cool tile wall, stroking his full length, palm across the top, then firm and fast down the shaft. He freed the hand he'd been using for balance to cup his balls, and pressed the fingers of his other hand firmly behind him, trying to stroke the throbbing ache inside. When it all proved too much, Chris gave up, gave in, and allowed himself to feel Lee again – stroking with the speeding images still so clear.

He only had to close his eyes to see the sweat pooled at Lee's temples sticking fine hairs to his forehead and face; he saw the smallest spray of freckles across the bridge of Lee’s nose, something he’d never noticed until he gained the vantage point of blond man kneeling between his thighs; and he saw that red – plum red – tongue laving flat up his shaft, nearly curling around the head, disappearing with his straining cock between swollen lips.

Chris stroked faster and harder, twisting his wrist and bucking his hips. Sliding the palm of one hand repeatedly over the shiny-tight crown, he moved the other up to jerk himself two-handed. No longer keeping up with his memories, he stroked and tugged to forcibly release them by blowing them out, spilling them against the tiles and down the drain. Faster, harder, he wanted it done, gone now, anything to erase the touch, taste, smell, feel – _Oh, the feel –_  that had melded into a single frame: Lee's sated face.

He came painfully. His shout raked his throat, his cock pulsed too hard, too quick, and felt like he'd split his slit wide open. His balls twitched and ached, pulled up too tight; his legs shook and knees creaked. At some point he'd slammed his head against the tile; his ears rang and his neck was sore.

Slowly, carefully, he slid down the wall, slipping the last few inches and landing with a splash on the floor. Chris felt numb, yet beaten and sore, while he watched his come wash away from between his fingers. _I can't do this. It **hurts** too --_  He gasped at the thought and the sting of unexpected tears. He shook violently beneath the cooling spray and wondered which was going to hurt more, telling Lee no, or saying yes again.


	7. Taking Over Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doubts, angst, and a nasty fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** No, I have no personal knowledge of Chris' nervous stomach. (I have been asked.) I merely extrapolated on the date and his documented deteriorating gall bladder being aggravated by stress.  
>  **Title:** Operation Lee, Pt. 8  
>  **Author:**  
>  **Fandom:** Oz (TV) - RPF/S  
>  **Wordcount:** 1725  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Christopher Meloni, Lee Tergesen  
>  **Pairing(s):** Meloni/Tergesen  
>  **Genre:** RPF/S  
>  **Contains:** Adult language  
>  **Beta(s):** The other half of my brain, levitatethis.  
>  **Disclaimer:** All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. **This never happened!**

Four days, five, six. Nothing. Not a word. No awkward messages returned, not even a cowardly hello on his machine while he was at work. Nothing. Lee thought it would be funny if it wasn't so damn galling and, if he let himself admit it, painful. Gut wrenchingly painful. All week he had acted like the booze addled, desperate first-time man lover; and the sad thing was, he wasn't acting at all.  
  
He couldn't be certain what Chris' excuse would be, but by now he could damn well guess. He might as well bet on it – odds 3:2 in favor of it being “the man thing.” Chris was going to say it was the marriage, the infidelity, but that would be a lie.  
  
He still had no idea why “the man thing” didn't trouble him. By all rights it should send him running, disgusted and determined to drown himself in the first ready and willing pussy he could find until all traces of Chris had been thoroughly washed away. Now, days into playing drunk and destroyed, all he wanted was to see Chris and end the twisting pain at the base of his skull.  
  


 

*****

 

Days ran together and Chris’ resolve strengthened. But it didn't make one fucking thing better. He auditioned for some new cop show on autopilot. He read; he lazily plucked at his guitar; he researched a couple of auction catalogues for a rug he wanted. He even went to church. He lit a candle for something, something he already grieved. He talked to his sister and didn't really say anything.  
  
Chris hoisted the barbell one last time then let it drop with a clatter. His gym time, always so meditative and centering, left him hollow. Probably for the first time in his life he didn't want to have anything to do with his body. All it did lately was distract and betray him. When it wasn't echoing and empty, it ached and throbbed, sorely longing for something he refused to name.  _This is right, the right thing to do_ , he told himself while toweling off. Even his sweat smelled thin and metallic to him, as distant and disconnected as everything else had seemed the past week.  
  
He stretched sore muscles and decided he had to do this face-to-face. A phone call, even if it were easier, would be cruel. By nature, that wasn’t him, and he wouldn't become that person now; he owed that to himself and Lee. “Oh, Lee.” He hadn’t spoken his name aloud in days.  _If you can't even say his name, you are so royally fucked!_  Chris had spent the better part of a week trying not to think his name, or see his face, or hear his voice. He refused to taste or smell him. And definitely not _feel_  him. He couldn't. Not again. This. Was. Right.  
  


 

*****

 

Half-sitting on the seat of Lee's motorcycle, he picked at a cuticle. Chris had waited the better part of an hour tucked in the drafty corner of the parking garage for Lee and was on the verge of going in the warehouse studio to look for him. His pulse raced and his stomach felt sour, again. “His mother's nervous stomach” his dad always called it – that unfortunate propensity to puke during car rides, before football games, twice on his wedding day.  _I'll feel better in an hour because this is right, the right thing to do, right? The right thing for my marriage, and – Oh, this sounds shitty – the right thing for my career_ , he pondered while he picked his finger bloody.

  
“Hey!” Lee's voice from over his shoulder startled him far more than it should have. He nearly knocked the bike over. Then his resolve threatened to slip altogether when he saw the other man’s bright smile.  
  
“Hey,” Chris responded. In an instant, Lee's smile vanished, his expression disarmingly cold.  
  
“You mind not knocking over my bike?” Lee said flatly through gritted teeth.  
  
“Sorry. Yeah,” Chris spoke to his finger, suddenly at a loss for words, for resolve, for how to have the conversation he’d been mentally reciting for days. “How ya doin'?”  
  
“Just peachy.” Lee was obviously in no mood to make this easy. “You?” Chris winced at 'peachy,' exactly what Lee wanted him to do, and it pissed him off. Chris looked up and saw what he had feared all week – Lee knew. His crossed arms, half-squinted glare, and slight flush said everything. He knew. Chris thought he might as well go home. Lee had done the dirty work for him. But he couldn't, he wasn't that guy. He wouldn't treat what they had—what they’d  _once_  had, he reminded himself, whatever it was, or Lee — with such disrespect. They were friends, and they couldn't be more because it wasn't right. Not when there were other people who would get hurt in the process. As he started to speak, the small unanswered question repeated quietly,  _Why **can’t**  it be right?_  
  
“Good. Okay. Fine, I guess – “  
  
“Which is it?” Lee snapped. Chris shot him a puzzled look. “Good? Okay? Fine? Trapped under a fucking bus? You're not looking so hot from where I'm standing.”  
  
“Fine, I guess,” Chris continued, not wanting to lose the last semblance of control for a courteous conversation, all the while trying to breathe and step out of the radius of Lee's trembling fury. “Listen, I've been thinking that – “  
  
“Congratulations! You must be so proud.” Arms crossed tightly over his chest, the corded, ropey muscles clenched in time with Lee's jaw.  
  
“Fuck!” Chris wasn't here to spar, and he definitely didn't want to end up as Lee's punching bag, even a verbal one, no matter how much he thought he deserved it. “What the fuck is your problem?”  
  
Expecting a nasty retort, Chris was briefly stunned when Lee took a deep breath instead as somber resignation replaced anger and a sad, then empty stare, slipped into place. “Just say it,” Lee ordered plainly.  
  
“What?” This wasn't a Tergesen Non Sequitur in the formal sense, but it gave Chris no less a case of whiplash.  
  
Lee sighed again, unexpectedly looking too drained to stand. “Look, we both know why you're here. Just say it, get off my bike, and go home.”  
  
“W– why am  **I**  here?” Suddenly on the defensive, parroting Lee was all Chris could manage.  
  
“No,” Lee shook his head slowly. “I'm not going to play games, and I'm not going to do it for you.” He felt too tired to lift his arms, to take a breath. “Just say it.”  
  
Chris ran his hands over his face and pressed his eyes; he felt the panicky emptiness open up just that bit more. “Listen. Um, I thought a lot about this and … um … I can't. I mean, we can't …”  
  
Lee shook his head.  
  
“No, seriously. I'm married, okay? No matter how much we … I mean, it was really grea– What?” Chris snapped at Lee's sharp, hollow laugh.  
  
“I knew it. I really should have put money on this,” Lee chuckled in the most unfriendly way. “Big money and I could have had a better view, maybe something near the Park.”  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Chris shifted his feet and pulled himself up straight. Angling his head back, he glared down his hawkish nose at Lee and looked into his eyes. He'd never confronted such empty laughter. Lee uncrossed his arms and ran his hands through his hair.  
  
“I _knew_  you would say this. Do this. Let me guess. You're married; you're Catholic; you don't want to be unfaithful, no matter how much you want this, and you do. And it was great. And it isn't me it's you.” Lee had his right hand up at his side while he made a show of counting down the list of Chris’ excuses one finger at a time. “And yadda yadda yadda. Right? Am I close?”  
  
“Stop it,” Chris exhaled sharply, fists clenched at his sides. “This isn't easy, and it's not what I want, but it's what's right. And – “  
  
“Bullshit!” Lee stepped into his space and spat out the words inches from Chris' face. “It was pretty fucking easy with your cock in my mouth, wasn't it?”  
  
“You are s– “ Chris hissed behind a gritted out whisper, quickly checking the area for spectators yet leery of turning his attention away Lee for even a second.  
  
“And it's easy when your hands are all over me.” Lee noticed Chris’ survey of the echoic garage and increased the volume of his speeding rant. “And it's easy when your tongue's down my throat. It's just not fucking easy when you have to think about it!”  
  
“Man, you’re such a bitch!!!” Nose to nose, Chris wasn't certain whether he was going to punch Lee or kiss him, but something inside him was about to snap. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about!”  
  
“Oh, I think I do, very well!” Lee’s anger was practically emanating out of every single pore on his face, his eyes were wide and blazing, and he huffed each breath with a deep gruffness. “At least I’m not a fucking liar!” He bent close to Chris' ear and, with a taunting lilt to his voice, said, “We both know she wouldn't mind, you just haven't told her, have you?” He stepped back, glaring, silently daring Chris to fight, to fucking do something other than stand there in all his ineffectual glory.  
  
“Fuck you!” With a sharp shove at Lee's shoulders Chris turned and began to walk out the parking garage.  
  
“No chance of that now,  _Baby_!” Lee shouted after him. Chris spun around quickly and stared. “See you when you break my legs,” Lee waved, his cold smile mocking Chris.  
  
“Arms, Asshole!” Chris turned and walked away. He'd never been so angry, or felt so completely flayed open. He hadn’t wanted to cry so much out of frustration and anger and loss this badly since he was a boy. Suddenly what was right, and what he wanted, and what made sense toppled through a red haze. He made a crisp turn around a panel truck and retched. What little he'd eaten seared his throat and tore through him with the inkling that he'd just made a monumental fucking mistake. 

 


	8. Someone Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee shuts down; Chris has an epiphany; bones break. I strongly suggest you at least skim the lyrics to the song Lee sings here: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/v/van_morrison/someone_like_you.html

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Operation Lee, Pt. 9  
>  **Author:**  
>  **Fandom:** Oz (TV) - RPF/S  
>  **Wordcount:** 3300  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Christopher Meloni, Lee Tergesen  
>  **Pairing(s):** Meloni/Tergesen  
>  **Genre:** RPF/S  
>  **Contains:** Adult language, mentions of drug/alcohol use.  
>  **Beta(s):** The other half of my brain, levitatethis.  
>  **Disclaimer:** All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. **This never happened!**

Lee ran. He ran until his lungs burned and legs ached, he ran until his heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest. The crisp, early Spring morning and the greening, sparsely populated park would have, under normal circumstances, been the start of a great Saturday morning.  _These_ , he thought as he came to a begrudging halt at a water fountain,  _weren't normal fucking circumstances. Not by a long shot_. Since Chris had virtually sprinted out of the parking garage, Lee had vacillated between floating in a thick, desolate fog and vibrating with sheer, white-hot fury.  
  
Winded, he hunched over, braced his hands on his knees, and tried for the thousandth time to wrench thoughts of Chris, sex, or both – they were synonymous - out of his head. Try as he might, he couldn’t deny it, Chris  _was_  sex, Eros made flesh who should have never caught his attention, never mind driven him nearly out of his mind with longing. Survival instincts required that Lee shut every emotion, impulse,  _drive_  he had down like a castle under siege. Survival wasn’t ranking very high with him these days. He'd always been passably adept at self-awareness, or he had until now. Somehow he had become wrapped up in the strangest, most ill-advised episode in his historically dubious love life.  
  
He snorted and scratched his ear.  _Love life, huh? Another man. Hmm? Well, it sure fits the definition_. Lee smirked at the image of the slightly amused twitch  _that_  definition would bring to Chris’ lips – lips unexpectedly soft, warm, curious, and always pressing, opening for just a little bit more. Then he ached all over again.  _Yup, this definitely fits_ , he agreed with a sigh. The kicked-in-the-guts feeling ran very familiar, even if this time the cause had a Y chromosome. “What the hell am I doing?”  
  
“Excuse me?” from the commonplace yuppie woman behind him made Lee flinch and turn quickly. “Water?” She gestured toward the fountain, looking guilty for interrupting his obvious preoccupation.  
  
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Lee replied. He backed away, reinserted his headphones, and jogged home at a less punishing pace. He needed to think. He wondered if Chris was right, if he thought too much. He frequently teased Lee about having the easiest job in the world because he was 'Toby' through and through. He smiled softly to himself and wondered when Chris would realize that he had it backwards: 'Toby' was  _him_.  
  


*****

  
Newspaper tucked under his arm, Lee slowed his usual skip up the steps of his walk-up by half, ignoring his reflexive check of his mailbox. Glancing quickly at headlines that didn’t register, he tossed the paper on the “tasteful” mud gray sofa he’d always hated. He took in the Ikea-perfect sterility of his once-shared living room and shook his head. He didn’t care if it ended up looking like a frat house, he  _had_  to redecorate - and soon. His ex’s formerly admirable practicality now grated. He wanted vibrant color, surprising shapes – something that looked different from every angle. Something that said who  _he_  was, how  _he_  felt.  _That’s going to be some trick … since I don’t have the faintest idea myself._  
  
“How  _do_  I feel?” he sighed to the empty room. “I feel like a drink.” His deeply Protestant mental gauge checked the clock – 12:02. “What the hell. It’s five o’clock somewhere.” Two fingers of Glen Livet over ice. He looked over toward a small drawer in a nondescript accent table. “Hmm, a lil smokey smokey?” Shaking his head, he decided against it. Weed made him feel warm and sexy. Right now, Lee needed the icy edge and sharp slap of booze. He toasted Chris, somewhere out there with his wife, integrity, clear conscience, and the weight of his own pressing shame, with a cynical smile. One gulp took half the glass. Lee walked over to the one piece of furniture distinctly him – his grandmother’s turn-of-the-century walnut upright. He ran his hand over the warm, well-worn fallboard and pulled it back. He sat his tumbler on the top, in the ancient watermark he imagined a glass of whisky made 100 years ago, and began to play.   
  


*****

  
The cab stopped three buildings down from his destination. Chris knew the neighborhood well. He paid the cabbie and dismissed him with a wave. Presumptuous to not have the cab wait; Chris stuffed his hands in his pockets and strode slowly, carefully down the street, approaching his destination on slight tiptoe – a prowling cat watching for movement in high grass.  
  
He stilled, light notes of piano music brushing across the back of his neck like a breeze. He shuddered, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as the voice behind him asked, “Here for the concert?”  
  
“Pardon me?” Chris turned to an old man out of New York central casting – at least 70, on the shortish side, undefinable Eastern and/or Southern European heritage. He was costumed in a news cap and cardigan sweater, props including an unlit, chewed cigar stub and a broom. This was one reason Chris loved the City: it never failed to provide its stereotypes a ready audience.  
  
“The concert,” Herbie or Ira or Silvio, whatever the unsolicited Narrator’s name was, said from beneath his thick accent, “from 4C.”  
  
Chris nodded, slowly recognizing the address.  
  
“The young man up there, every Saturday afternoon,” he spat once then leaned on his broom. “Plays a bit of piano, sings a bit. He’s an actor of some sort. Who ISN’T in this crazy town, eh?”  
  
Chris shrugged. A breeze picked up and several more people stopped to listen to the music now flowing from 4C’s open window.  
  
“His young lady must be back,” the Narrator grinned. “They fought like cats in a sack, could always tell the way he’d pound those keys after she’d storm out. Then one day she didn’t come back. No more piano.” The old man shrugged then continued. “So maybe she’s back.”  
  
“Maybe …” Chris drifted off, staring up at the window, billowing beige curtains partially camouflaging the soulful change in tone of the music, louder, more discernible than before.  
  
“Though personally,” the Narrator continued, punctuating his story with a healthy expectoration around his cigar stub, “Me. I hope he found a new girl. That old one was quite a mean piece of work, I’ll tell ya that. Me ‘n’ the Missus think she had other men in there, too. That just ain’t right in a man’s house …”  
  
Chris closed his eyes to take in the sound of the familiar, haunting tune.  
  
The Narrator drifted away, his sweeping offering a light counter-point to the voice floating above him, muffled words growing crisp as the air, dancing above the heads of the small, quiet crowd that had gathered with Chris on the sidewalk.  
  
“I’ve been doin’ some soul searchin’ to find out where you’re at. I’ve been up and down the highway in all kinds of foreign lands –“  
  
Chris startled, hugging the wall like a burglar.  _Does he know? How could he know I’m here?_  Lee’s voice wrapped around him like his body – a slim, shapely tenor with unanticipated strength and depth. He hugged himself against the chill and the rising chorus.  
  
“Someone like you makes it all worthwhile. Someone like you keeps me satisfied. Someone exactly like you.” Lee continued, occasionally backing up to perfect a chord or change a step to better suit his voice.  
  
 _He’s just singing. He just –_ Chris trembled violently, head to toe and heart deep. His teeth clattered and his soul stirred. His gut lurched as a blast of adrenalin made its way from his core through his limbs. He had to leave,  _run, NOW!_  
  
And Chris ran, fast – as fast as his rubbery legs and his rolling stomach would allow, away from Lee and his comforting voice that fascinated him into letting his guard down long enough to hope the words, the beauty, the effort was for him. He ran with closed eyes to put to flight the apparition of hands that caressed keys and possessed him through distance and logic.  
  
He halted when he collided directly with a wire trash can. Grateful to stop, really, because he felt nauseous and lightheaded. He ignored the bruises forming on his ribs and glared unseeing. He gripped the thick wire frame of the can until it twisted. He tried to breathe deeply and merely felt his throat continue to catch on forming sobs.  
  
Chris swayed slightly to the reminisced music, old Van Morrison tumbling and melting in his ears as he strained to form a lucid thought.  _This … this is too much. I can’t. I can’t WHAT? I can’t … **something**. Come on Chris – A, B, C … 1, 2 , 3 … c’mon back. _ Finally capable of taking a complete breath, Chris unbent, standing and scanning the sky. He searched for calm, for wisdom, for an answer that would by some means dull the cleaving pain in his belly. Several more deep breaths had him resigned to do what he did best – leap off the cliff and see what happened.  
  
Plink, plink … the coins in the payphone counted down with his heart. Unexpected calm flowed over and through him as he heard “Hello” on the line.  
  
“Hi, Honey. Yeah, no. Yeah, I’m okay, really. Can you pick me up at St. Mark’s & First? No. Really I’m fine. Yeah, let’s get a table at Gio’s . We can open a bottle of  bad  Chianti and talk, okay? Are you sure? Okay. See you in a few. I love you, too.”  
  
Chris wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to say to his wife, but he knew it would be the truth.  
  


*****

  
To say that the subsequent week’s filming was uncomfortable would have been a fine grasp of the obvious, Chris mused as he packed up his gear. For what must have been the thousandth time, he cracked his neck and tried to press  away  the constant tension from behind his eyes.  _What am I going to have to do to get him to talk to me?_  
  
Chris has spent the better part of the weekend talking to his wife, if he could call negotiations that made SALT II look simplistic “talking.” They accused, cried, screamed, and finally and so slowly, broke apart to and for each other. Despite love, devotion, and every other part of what they vowed, or thought they were supposed to vow, both of them had felt hollow, incomplete, and stifled. Basically, neither one of them was cut out for single gender monogamy; his wife thinking she’d “get over it” since before they had been married, and Chris suddenly having to look his adolescent “phase” dead in the face.  
  
They came to an agreement, unzipping their relationship like clothing a size too small. To Chris’ complete surprise, his wife knew a woman, a friend, she felt the same way about. They agreed to pursue their feelings, her with this friend, him with Lee, while remaining together. As she had said beneath a flabbergasted huff, “Why should I be angry that you feel love, you big dummy?”  
  
And that was it. That was the  _something_  Chris had been unable to identify all these weeks. He loved Lee. At least he thought he did, he felt like he did, and it took his wife almost literally slapping him upside his head to make him see it. Now that he did, he wasn’t going to waste any more time without sharing the news. Unfortunately, circumstance and the focus of his ardor weren’t cooperating.  
  
Lee had somehow succeeded in making his entrances and exits like an apparition, never appearing before he was absolutely needed and disappearing from Chris’ peripheral vision just as “wrap” was called. Chris deliberately fumbled lines and screwed up takes left and right, causing everyone from one-time extras to Tom to glare sidelong, visually willing him to get his shit together and stop costing so much time. Everyone but Lee, he corrected himself, who had learned in a short time how to appear to be looking into Chris’ eyes when he was obviously, to Chris, focused on a point somewhere in the middle of his forehead.  
  
The scene Chris thought would give him his chance, in the pod and common area, 'Toby' clinging, drunk, and begging 'Keller' for love and attention, failed to find the smallest chink in the wall of ice Lee had built around himself. Chris let the touches linger, brushed up against him as close as he could, skipped lines to force retakes, hoping a touch, a look, even a gesture would start a thaw, bring Lee’s focus back to Chris. It didn’t. What he did see was the masterful ease with which Lee warmed – to Dean, Kirk, even to Jon – one moment, then froze up, thick as a glacier, whenever Chris came within five feet of him.  
  
When Chris made a decision about something, he acted on it – immediately. He always had; spontaneity remained as comfortable for him as caution was for others, but Lee refused him an inch, a micron, of room to approach, let alone land. As he grew more and more frustrated with Lee’s refusal to engage him in any way, he lashed out, knocking 'Toby' on his ass far harder than the scripted shove called for. Instantly awash with remorse, Chris looked down at Lee, who lingered on the floor a bit longer than he had on the last take.  
  
In the glint of genuine tears, Chris found a sliver of hope, latched on to it and held on tight. Just as quickly Lee must have felt the momentary thaw, for as he shoved himself up off the floor and stalked away, Chris swore he could feel the heat of anger, the lick of burning rage in the set of Lee’s shoulders and the square of his hips. Anger Chris could work with. If he could just get Lee angry _enough_  he’d get through, thaw him out, and – dare he hope – know that his infinitely stubborn costar felt the same way about him.  
  


*****

  
_This is it, D-Day. Last scene. I’m gonna get ya, you stubborn motherfucker._  Chris alternately skipped rope and toyed with the speed bag in the gym. Overloaded on adrenalin and desperation, he seriously considered polling the crew for a joint or a flask. After 15 straight hours of shooting, he could find coffee every five feet, and probably a bump or two of something far more stimulating if he asked. Stimulation, however, was the last thing he needed. Rehearsal had been torturous, close on the wrestling pad with Lee, pressed against him and writhing in a repeated travesty of their first day of wrestling. The day the sparks lit, they trembled in unison, and their connection was inexorably made.  
  
Hushed voices turned Chris’ attention to the corner where Lee and Dean stood, heads pressed together, deep in conversation that increasingly animated Lee while Dean scanned conspiratorially over his head. The rush of rage and bile in his throat made him dizzy.  _What the fuck are **they** talking about when he won’t even speak to  **me?**_  Chris clenched – his fists, his jaw, his gut – and tried to shake off the last of the unfamiliar feelings Lee had so recently stirred up and yanked to the surface. Jealousy. Pathetic, clinging jealousy that made Chris want to rush to Lee’s side, pummel Dean unrecognizable, and kiss the nod and smile he flashed Dean right off his tormentor's smug, unreachable face.  
  
The crew completed the set up as this week’s director walked in. He’d heard Lee call him “The General” and laughed. He briefly recapped their rehearsal, gave notes, then yawned pointedly at Chris. His small nod to Tom, who stood in the corner, arms sternly crossed, reminded all involved they were on notice: Everyone from the producers to the craft services people wanted this done in no more than two takes. Master, safety, GO HOME. Chris would have to think fast, devise a Plan B before the shoot was over, before Lee left, before his chance was gone for good.  
  
Chris stared at Lee throughout touch-ups, eyes pleading, his pinpoint focus willing Lee to look at him,  _see_  him, and slow down long enough to talk, just talk to him. Bill and Lee exited, sound rolled, and “ACTION” called. The hollow irony of the scene of violent betrayal didn’t escape him. Chris glared and taunted, his smile a snarl daring Lee one last time to do something, anything, to prove to Chris that he still mattered. Chris could handle anger, understand it. He couldn’t break through indifference.  
  
 _Yes! There it is, Baby._  He caught it just over his left shoulder as he gave Jon a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.  _C’mon Baby, give it to me. I can take whatever you got. Just give it to **me**._  Chris beckoned to him, and exhaustion snapped the last of Lee’s resolve. Rage flared in the blond man’s eyes – instantly the legendary Viking berserker rages seemed plausible - sweat popped and flushed his skin, and he charged Chris with every bit of energy he had left.  
  
The impact knocked Chris’ breath from his lungs. They careened to the floor. Lee whispered, “Asshole!” against his ear as they grappled. Chris responded through his first panted breath, “Yes!” and flipped Lee as planned. Chris felt the straining push/pull of Lee’s muscles as his attacker fought against the desire to genuinely twist Chris, hurt him as much as he hurt. As Chris spun again to grab Lee’s arm and get in position, Lee’s erection ground painfully against his own. He watched Lee’s straining face and longed for them to be alone as the Mother of All Angry Fucks loomed dangerous and tantalizing.  
  
Chris ground his cock against Lee’s thigh as he pretended to break the first arm. Lee kicked Chris and screamed with unleashed force that raised hairs on almost every neck in the room, alternately bucking against then away from Chris. They continued with the pantomime maiming, and Lee’s screams of rage bore into him in time with his continuously clawing nails and thrown elbows.  
  
“CUT!” Lee jerked away from Chris, face scarlet and gleaming, a smear of blood at the corner of his lip.  
  
“That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a wrap!” Applause from cast and crew cleared away the last of the echoing tension. Amidst the back slapping and planning for drinks and parties despite the hour, Lee pushed through the crowd, making his way through the gym doors and toward the labyrinthine set. The instant the doors thudded shut, Chris hopped up, politely avoided a few calls to him with a wave, and followed.


	9. Unusual Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admissions made, detente broken, and a very sturdy set wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Operation Lee Part 10  
>  **Author:**  
>  **Fandom:** Oz (TV) - RPF/S  
>  **Wordcount:** ~ 6,500  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Christopher Meloni, Lee Tergesen  
>  **Pairing(s):** Meloni/Tergesen  
>  **Genre:** RPF/S  
>  **Warning(s):** (highlight to reveal)  Adult Language, Violence, Dub-Con  
>  **Contains:** (highlight to reveal)  Fellatio, Fingerfucking  
>  **Beta(s):**  
>  **Notes:** This entire series is NC-17 - it contains slash, real people, bad language, and sex. Anything prompted by a kink table will receive a separate warning.  
>  **Disclaimer:** All characters used herein are the property of Fontana/Levinson and HBO. No copyright infringement intended. No profit by me or anyone else shall be made; this is solely a work of the author's imagination. I make NO assertions whatsoever that any of these events ever happened, have no knowledge that they ever happened. **This never happened!**

Chris travelled as quietly and as quickly as his costume work boots would allow. He rushed through the dim main hallway, eyeing each turn-off for Lee, whom he knew couldn’t be that far ahead of him unless he’d broken into a full run the moment he left. He rounded the corner that brought him to the long, dark hallway of the Ad Seg section of the set. There he saw the familiar silhouette, jacket in one hand, helmet in the other, moving quickly away from him.  
  
“Stop!” Chris called to Lee, quickening paces and longer legs making ground.  
  
“Go away, Chris!” The tension in Lee’s back screamed that he did, indeed, want to break into a full sprint, but pride held him to a semblance of walking.  
  
Chris’ pride didn’t drive him nearly as far as did his desire; he broke into a jog. “God dammit, STOP!” Arm outstretched, he caught Lee by the shoulder and spun him around, sending him backward into the nearest wall.  
  
“Get the fuck off me!” Lee struggled and took a swing with his helmet, its wide arc narrowly missing Chris’ head and propelling it noisily down the hallway.  
  
“Hey! Watch it! Calm the fuck down and STOP!” Chris shouted and pressed Lee’s shoulders to the wall, expansive chest holding him still.  
  
“Fuck OFF!” Lee snarled, maneuvering a leg around Chris’, trying to throw him off balance. “I don’t know what the fuck you were playing at today, but I don’t want any part of it. Get off me and leave me alone!”  
  
“NO!” Chris effortlessly pulled his leg from Lee’s attempt to sweep his ankle and used his knees to press Lee harder against the wall. “All I’ve wanted to do all day is talk to you, and if I have to fucking hold you down to do it, I will!”  
  
Lee continued to struggle, wriggling beneath Chris’ firm hold, cursing and kicking out when Chris’ grip loosened a bit for rest. “What? What could you possibly have to say to me that you haven’t already said?” He inhaled, indignant, and glared at Chris again. “Do you want me to repeat it? Why don’t we just sum it up with ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ and move on shall w –“  
  
Chris leaned forward and pressed his lips over Lee’s open mouth, tongue pushing inside. Lee startled and gasped, sucking the air from Chris’ lungs as he tried to fill his own. He gurgled awkwardly; Lee pulled back, twisting his head away.  
  
“You fucking asshole! Don’t you play me. You said we’re done, through. No more. It was nice, you’re married …but you … don’t want anyone to … think you– you’re …” His concentration collapsed as Chris placed soft, tongue-tipped kisses along his jaw, in the tantalizing hollow below his ear, and back again.  
  
Chris pressed himself to Lee, knees to shoulders, absorbing the other man’s body heat and everything that lingered unsaid between them. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He continued his kisses along the opposing jawline, speaking slowly and clearly while he read Lee’s body with his own. “I can’t do it. Or, I can’t  _not_  do it. This. With you. I … I …” he broke off, muffled, beginning the slightest undulations, hips canting against Lee until he felt him tense again.  
  
“You’ve  _got_  to be fucking kidding me!” Chris’ guard was down enough for Lee to wedge a hand between them, creating enough distance to see Chris’ face. “You do some soul-searching or some shit, then come to me and proclaim that  _you’ve_  decided?  _You’ve_  changed your mind? You got some big balls there, pal!” Lee inhaled sharply and shook his head. “Now, let me go.”  
  
“Can you honestly say you don’t want it? Huh?” Chris slanted into him, pressing against Lee’s body by the smallest of increments, grinding and circling tightly. He kissed along Lee’s jaw again and stretched his ear lobe gently between his teeth, drawing a slight gasp and tilt of hips from him. Chris shifted and held Lee against the wall with a forearm pressed against his chest. He wedged the other hand between them and cupped Lee’s full erection, pressing with his palm. “God, you get hard so fast! I love it,” He whispered into the pinned man’s mouth. Chris rubbed along the length of his erstwhile lover’s erection, blunt nails scratching over the fabric, and continued as Lee worried his own lower lip, control dissolving fast. “You can’t say it, can you? Look at you,” Chris watched Lee huff along with him and smiled, “You can’t look me in the eye and say you don’t want it, too.”  
  
He felt Lee start to sag against him as he buried his face in his neck, licking and nibbling while he deftly opened Lee’s pants one-handed. They grunted in concert as they mocked where they began -- standing together, uncertain, Chris’ hand wrapped firmly around his cock, holding him.  
  
Chris pulled back to take Lee’s baby-curved lips beneath his own yet again and stopped. The expression that met him wasn’t hunger or ardor, it was clear dejection.  
  
“You’re wrong,” Lee sighed, “I can say I don’t want  _it_.” He sagged further as his voice caught in his throat. “What I can’t say, what I won’t say, is that,” he swallowed hard and looked Chris in the eye for the first time that day, “that I don’t want  _you_. I just wish you could say the same. Please, let me go.”  
  
Chris’ shock was almost enough to cause him to release his grip on Lee. Almost. As Lee struggled to take a step to the side and extricate himself, Chris gave his head a slight shake and jostled the slighter man back against the wall, forcing the breath of his complaint through clenched teeth.  
  
“No. You’re wrong. I don’t.” Chris held Lee at arm’s length, scanning his face for …  _something_. An answer to where Lee’s thinking, or what Chris said or did, must have gone so terribly wrong.  
  
“I know you don’t.” Lee’s voice fell flat, defeated, carrying its own echo in the small space it travelled between them. “And since, despite the groping, I’m not up to being your playmate, it would be best if you just let me go home.” Speaking over Chris’ shaking head and continued grip, Lee’s anger began to return. “I’m sure, if you hurry, you could find someone interesting for the night. That new P.A. looks easy enough.”  
  
“No. You’re wrong. That’s not it.” Chris recognized he wasn’t making much sense, but his brain and body refused to connect, despite straining in tandem toward their common goal.  
  
“Stop saying that! You just said it was!” His irritated sigh approximated a growl. He rocked his aching shoulders, attempting to move his hands between them and gain some purchase. Chris blinked blankly once again, then smiled.  
  
“I said it was what?” Chris smile grew broader, and he had to stifle a laugh at the simple answer, the wonderfully easy snip to the tangle they fought through.  
  
“God damn it, Chris! I am not interested in the Abbott and Costello! I don’t know what you’re on, and I don’t give a shit. Let me go, NOW!” Lee bit his lips in anger as he sucked in a long breath and glared. “I may not be able to completely kick your ass, but I will surely fuck you up if you don’t let me go. Right. Now.”  
  
Chris smiled broadly. Lee tucked his head back as far as he could, taking aim with his forehead at the bridge of Chris’ nose.  
  
Easing his grip on Lee’s shoulders, he wrapped his arms around him in a bear hug, effectively pinning the raging man’s arms between them. Chris smiled again, unable to stifle a chuckle at Lee’s rattling growl.  
  
“You’ve got it all wrong. Really. It’s not  _it_  that I want. That’s ridiculous .” Chris emphasized his amusement with another squeeze.” I love you. I could get  _it_  anywhere, from just about anyone I wanted.” Chris broke off, laughing at Lee’s amusingly indignant expression.  
  
“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not the cream of the crop, but I … what did you just say?”  
  
His laughter subsided as he nuzzled Lee’s stubbled cheek with his own; Chris drew deep breaths against the sweat-cooled skin of his neck. He felt the fall. His heart fluttered. His stomach rolled. “I said I could get  _it_  anywhere.”  
  
Lee couldn’t pull back any farther; he couldn’t push Chris away. He could only sway from exertion and bring his mouth to Chris’ ear, asking overly loud, “What did you say after that?”  
  
Chris straightened himself on an inhale and pulled his head away from Lee’s. His voice threatened to fail him, faith in his blind leap fading with each heartbeat. He then remembered the sage advice he’d been given the previous week, held his breath, and pulled the cord.  
  
“That’s what I was thinking about. That I love you. I thought you might want to know.”  
  
Lee gaped, faltered, and managed to cough out, “What the –“ before Chris cut him off.  
  
“So, when you suggest that I’m just looking for ‘anyone for it’ – and I assume you mean any man for sex – you are, in fact, wrong.”  _Say something now, you smug lil shit._  Chris had leapt, eyes closed, and now could only wait in the anxious hope that his ‘chute would open and he wasn’t falling alone.  
  
For a long while they stood, Chris’ arms still confining Lee but no longer with bruising force, and watched each other intently. The flabbergasted man in Chris’ arms quaked as he spoke.  
  
“Have you lost your fucking mind? Seriously? YOU start everything to begin with, then cut me off at the knees with a stupid explanation. Then …” Chris watched, engrossed, as the veins in Lee’s forehead pulsated, his face coloring past scarlet to crimson, his ocean-blue eyes glittering with rising tears. “THEN, you force me down to tell me some shit like you –“  
  
 _That’s enough!_  Chris cut him off with a kiss that, in his agitated state, Lee clearly didn’t expect. He started with a quiver, gave a feeble push with the one arm he had succeeded in prying free, and groaned – a deep, gratified, full-throated reverberation that to Chris felt like home after a long day.  
  
And then Lee kissed him back, and the sore muscles and sick stomach and sleepless nights became worth it, worth everything. Worth the six-hour conversation with his wife to feel Lee tug them together by his belt loops; worth the weeks of opened old wounds to feel the heart in Lee’s chest hammering against his own; worth remembering relentless shame to feel the warm, kiss-swollen lips chase his when he broke away for a needed breath.  
  
His chest still immobilized Lee against the wall, but his hands now freely roamed his body, soothing and kneading tensed muscles while his lips and tongue travelled newly revealed skin on his cheeks and neck. His tongue tip traced behind ears and sideburns where Lee’s skin was slightly pinker from the beard that had protected it. Gentle, humming sighs of  _Chris_ ,  _Chris_  welled up in him like tears while ever-more demanding hands clenched rhythmically against his ass, driving him to the edge of teeth-clenching restraint .  
  
“Yes, yes. I want you, too. I want  _you_ ,” he murmured into Lee’s ear as his hand returned to his wide-open pants and pulsing wet cock. “Mmm, yeah … Can’t ever stop thinking about you,” Chris panted, the crisp, frantic edge to his voice propelling full-bodied tremors through Lee.  
  
“Chris. Wait, wait … not here. I want …” he twisted and tugged, finding it once again impossible to free himself from Chris’ stone-like grasp. “No, please. Don’t! Not here, I need …”  
  
Continuing his measured, firm stroking, Chris remained deaf to Lee’s protests; obsessive thoughts and unbearable yearnings finally real, solid, and within his grasp.  
  
“Oh, I want you too, Baby. Need you. So much. So. Much.” He breathed as quickly as his lungs would allow, his stream-of-consciousness babbling punctuated with nibbles and pulls at Lee’s skin. “You know what I want?” he probed as he pumped Lee faster. “I want to suck your cock. That’s what I want. All I could think about. You. You coming in my mouth for me.”  
  
As Lee was drawn into another devouring kiss, he began to panic. Chris wasn’t stopping, wasn’t listening, was scarcely there –propelled blindly by his obsession. A ferocious burst of rage rose in Lee, exhausted from the pushing and shoving he’d been buffeted by all night; he’d had enough.  
  
With the very last of his strength, muscles burning and torn, he heaved and spun, slamming Chris against the wall. The set shook to the rafters of the warehouse, and Chris’s head snapped against the wall with a heavy crack.  
  
“I said NO! Not  _here!_ ” Lee had him trapped, forearm against his throat, full weight against his chest, knees locked into Chris’ so they were hyperextended and off balance.  
  
“Lee? What the hell are you doing?” The foggy glaze lifted from his eyes, comprehension returning.  
  
“God damn you! You just don’t listen, do you? You think everything is about you, what you want, you self-centered prick! I tell you no – not even no ever – and you push and push and …” Lee panted rapidly, continuing before Chris could answer. “What were you going to do, rape me? Huh?”  
  
“What? No. No, I … I just … I wasn’t –“  
  
“I said not here, and you just keep going and going … you wanna suck my cock, huh?” A sharp snap of Lee’s knee below his kneecap and shove to his shoulder, and Chris dropped in front of him.  
  
He yanked his zipper the rest of the way down and gripped Chris by the back of the head. Lee expected to see defiance, refusal, even shame – Chris was rarely diffident and never contrite – so the sweet, accepting smile that rippled across Chris’ lips almost mollified his rage. And that merely angered him further.  
  
He used one unsteady hand to hold his cock out straight in front of him. The other pulled Chris’ face to him with a jerk.  
  
“Then do it. Now! Suck my cock.”  
  
Chris licked his lips, and Lee saw the first flash of hesitation, of real fear that night. It exhilarated him. He loathed it.   
  


_*****_

  


If Chris had to take it, he’d take it. He wanted it. Wanted to matter, to be the one to take all of Lee’s fury and turmoil, break through those bitter walls that froze Chris out and shattered his heart. What attracted him so, obsessed him, was Lee’s unself-conscious strength. Perpetually underestimated, Lee possessed a core of power that pulled Chris to him, made him yearn to surround himself in it and make it his own.

Chris’ breathing faltered as he opened his mouth. Every dream, every fantasy he dared ponder, Lee realized with the rough hands gripping his head. There’d be time for tenderness later. Chris needed, so dreadfully needed, for this to be tangible: sweaty, painful, unrelenting, and unforgettable. As unyielding, un-tender – un-womanly – as possible.

Lee drew a few swipes over his lips with his wet cock head, a semblance of warning, then pushed – fast – and didn’t stop until he hit the back of Chris’ throat. His gag reflex sprang to attention, eyes watered, and nose started to run. He tried to breathe through his nose and coughed. Lee pulled his hips back and pushed again. And kept pushing. His pace was rough but steady, so after a few minutes, Chris was able to develop a rhythm, but his jaw ached and the corners of his mouth stung, lips stretched tight over Lee’s cock, which swelled gloriously as he pumped.

A mistaken scrape of teeth earned Chris a painful gouge of nails from the hands guiding his head. His eyes continued to water, but his nose quit running when he learned to exhale on the downstroke and inhale on the up. Chris’ knees smarted from the awkward way he’d landed; his neck tensed with what felt like a permanent knot. In short, his entire body hurt, Lee grunted roughly above him, and Chris repeatedly had to concentrate fantastically hard to  **not**  come in his pants.

_This is it. Him. Real, SO real,_  Chris contemplated as he experimentally twisted his tongue. Lee gasped and hissed, “Yes,” the susurration sizzling over Chris’ skin. Chris’ answering moan jolted Lee almost off his legs, and he stretched out to the wall in front of him, his hand over Chris’ head offering balance. The change of angle gave Chris less room to move, but it also afforded him a view of Lee’s straining face as his moans became discernible statements.

  
_*****_   


  


Lee grit his teeth and slowly opened his eyes, his vision tracking from his clenching hand at the wall, over Chris’ sparsely haired head, and down to startling blue eyes, open wide in passionate disbelief.

Never had he expected this to go so far, for him to be on the receiving end, or to hear such a matter-of-fact and believable declaration of love.  _LOVE? From a Man?_  Yes, a beautiful man, to be sure, but also one who, from all outward appearances, was as macho as could be found. One who forced himself through some sort of emotional crucible in a very short time. One who made all Lee’s scoffing at his own concept of self-image worthless. One who, in all his fiery honesty and bravado, let himself be manhandled into a merciless blowjob – quickly becoming quite adept in the process.

Lee wanted to scream, punch him in the face, shake him out of demeaning himself – _Is that what he’s doing?_  Hadn’t he been in that same position just a week ago? On his knees before Chris, giddy with joy from sucking his dick in deep and hard, proud of himself that he not only hadn’t choked, but had blown Chris’ mind and cock well and thoroughly. So what was it, what was this, that made it so terribly, suddenly  _wrong_?

“Oh! Oh yeah … this is what you want, huh?” Lee hissed. Chris continued to match his rhythm and grunted what sounded like “uh huh” around him, moving a hand that had been balancing against his hip to his ass, kneading enticingly.

“Ooh, I know you do.” Lee’s panting, hitching breath interposed words he could scarcely control. “You sure do want this, don’t you? On your knees …” He felt Chris’ body shudder in response, backing up with a quick cough after hugging Lee’s thighs to his chest. Chris’ seductive gaze spread a glow through him when he looked up, took a deep breath, then returned to their slow, steady pace.

“’Cause that’s … that’s what we’re gonna get … Mmm, you know?” Lee’s white fingertips grew cold against the wall as reality slammed into him with such force his mind disengaged from his body. “On our … knees in dark hallways. Back doors. Oh, G – God … never, unh, never out … ohyeah, out in the … open. Y- you, yes! You really w- want that?” Head back, neck arched, he cried out a sob in counterpoint to the squeeze of a deep swallow around him.

Lee looked down when he realized Chris had stopped sucking him. The tip of Lee’s cock just resting on his bottom lip, Chris stared up in confusion, still caressing, comforting the suffering man standing before him with soft, large hands slowly stroking over his hips. Burgeoning welts from rough fingertips dotted his face, his lips swollen and deep red, shiny with what could have been saliva or blood. His chest heaved as he waited for an answer. Lee groaned.

“W- what?” Chris croaked, throat obviously raw, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

Lee flinched, stunned at the sight of Chris’ handsome, marred face.  _What the hell did I do?_  He swallowed and Lee’s cock bobbed against his cheek. Kneeling patiently, Chris seemed unconcerned with his own comfort.

“What … what’s wrong?”

“’What’s wrong?’  **This**! You … Are you okay? What did I do? Fuck …” he continued panting, but his erection regained its connection to his conscience and seriously flagged. Lee’s fingers gently traced a deep thumb welt at Chris’ temple.

Chris smiled and, beginning a slow caressing of Lee’s cock, kissed his hip delicately. “More than. Can I …?” He completed his sentence by licking up the length of his half-hardness.

“Fuuuck. No. Oh, yeah … wait! Look at … you must … You want me to do  **that**?”

“Yes! Jesus, what is so fucking complicated?” The flaring irritation in Chris’ eyes surprised Lee, whose hands Chris grabbed and slapped against the back of his own head. “There. Okay? Can I suck you off now?”

Lee held his head firmly, keeping eye contact and Chris away from his goal. “Are you sure?”

His answer growled in Chris’ throat as short nails nipped at his hips. Lee canted forward, off balance, and back into Chris’ mouth.

More slick, tight heat threw several bone-rattling shivers through him. Lee’s emotional roulette wheel spun and settled on revulsion, at himself, for bruising Chris, for needing it, for giving in to his vengeance-seeking, battered heart.

  
_*****_  


  
Chris had closed his eyes and increased his pace, arms wrapped around Lee’s legs, hands kneading his firm, enticingly soft ass. He hummed in visceral pleasure, almost overloading on his own senses until he felt a slack ambivalence in Lee’s muscles indicating that he’d simply decided to go along for the ride.  _This is fucking ridiculous! Who ignores a blowjob?_  Chris pulled away and began to speak as he looked up.

“Hey there, am I boring – ” He stopped mid-thought and gasped at red eyes, tears racing each other down the blond man’s now-ruddy face. He framed Chris’ face, feather-light with trembling hands, and took a deep breath.

“You, um, you know … I think, um, I think I might … you know, I might, too.” Lee’s thawing ice had melted into tears, and the face that held a thousand contradictions was beautiful to Chris in a way he’d never seen, never felt for anyone before. He slowly stood on numb legs, took Lee’s swollen face between his hands, and tenderly sipped tears from his skin, moving this way and that. Admiration for this man overwhelmed him almost as much as his passion. He fathomed the self-possessed strength it took to come to an admission that had taken weeks for  _him_  to come to terms with, and very nearly cried his answer.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’ve never … I’m … I mean, that was violent and wrong and I’m just not that person.”

Chris gently canted the face still between his unsteady hands up to his own. “Oh, Baby ...” With the lightest brush of lips against Lee’s, he continued. “I want it just like this. I … I  _need_  this,” he began to stutter. “With you. Can you do that for me? It can be different the next time, okay? I promise. I promise … “ He began punctuating his litany with teasing licks and deep sucking, tiny nips and sharp bites all along Lee’s face and arched neck.

“I promise.” Tears threatened to spill with frustrated longing, and he delved into a deep kiss, hoping to convey directly with his mouth what words seemed to fail. He broke off sharply and searched Lee’s still dumbfounded eyes. “Please?”

Lee crinkled his nose, lifted an eyebrow, and came back into himself. “Yes.” Both hands on his shoulders, Lee pushed his distressed lover against the wall and back down on his knees. Chris tugged his hands back to his head, shuddered briefly, then agreed, “Yes.”

Leaning quickly forward, Chris took Lee’s softened cock back in his mouth, relishing his ability to take it all down, crisp hair and heady musk at his nose. A strong pulse brought a tandem shudder. Almost as quickly he coughed, lurched back, and released the fully engorged, thick cock with a wet pop.

“Sorry,” Lee whispered sheepishly, caressing short hair beneath his fingertips.

Chris chuckled. “Don’t be. How the fuck do you  **do**  that?”

Lee muttered a breathy, “I don’t know,” while Chris sucked at the spongy, full head, tonging the slit, feeling it compress and expand against his lips.

He looked up at Lee while he dug his fingers back into his hips abruptly. Lee stumbled briefly. “That was rhetorical. Let me … ?” nodding toward the leaking cock before him. Sticking out his tongue, he let a single pearl fall on the tip, drawing it in, coating his lips with a slow lick.

Lee smirked and groaned out, “Be my guest,” gripped Chris’ head firmly with both hands, and drove the man’s mouth down over his now proudly jutting cock. Vibrations of the moan around him sent tingles down his arms and legs, up his spine, flushed his face, and clenched his ass. He groaned louder, gripped harder each time he felt Chris grip his hips and fuck his mouth with Lee’s cock.

Their rhythm synchronized with beautiful simplicity, force ever increasing until he could actually hear the slap of his pelvis against Chris’ face. He looked down and saw his Adonis’ eyes closed in blissful concentration, shuddering and moaning, breath huffing rapidly through coarse, soaked wet hair, adding just that more stimulation to Lee’s over-blown nerves.

His body burned with fiery licks of pleasure. Bracing himself once again with one hand against the wall in front of him, his knees shook and his body ached to come. There had been too much. He felt coiled too tightly to let go, and that merely caused him to groan and thrust harder and longer.

Chris suddenly moved one hand from his hip to palm his own cock through his pants, and Lee craned his neck to watch him handle his own erection roughly. He moaned as Chris’ pleasure gave him the key to his release.

“Fuuck, oh yeah … Do it! God, you’re so fucking … “ he wheezed and groaned. Hips snapped quickly, efficiently, aided by Chris’ bobbing head and powerful arm, fingertips digging roughly into his sweat-slick ass.

“So good. Oh! Sogoodsogood …” The breathy string of encouragement jolted Chris to falter his rhythm, his hand losing purchase on Lee’s rounded ass and slipping deeply between the cheeks. Before he could regain his pace, drive his grasping lover over the now clearly marked ledge, Lee spread his legs as far as his dropped pants would allow and canted his hips, struggling to drive his very core over Chris’ trembling fingers.

“Aaaaah! Chris … yes!” Lee answered to the caress, completely lost in sensation, unaware of his body’s deepening need for contact. His hips circled more slowly, cock into Chris’ waiting mouth, back against his probing fingers, drawing the men forward, linked together by a single repeated word. “Please. Please. Please.”

  
_*****_  


  
 _Baby, you are so fucking beautiful! Let me in, let me take you over …_  Chris pleaded silently. He hoped somehow, someway, Lee could hear his entreaty and take this last frightening, final step with him. He must have heard. Chris looked up to see Lee, face flushed, hair and sweat falling into his eyes, repeating his name and nodding, eyes clearly requesting the final connection his voice couldn’t. Slowly pulling his cock from Chris’ mouth and arching his back, Lee bent his knees slightly. All at once shocked and daunted, Chris stroked Lee’s cock and bent his head, lapping at his balls and slicking his fingers as the clear thought made him dizzy,  _He wants me inside him. Fucking him. Me!_

He had to be certain; he wouldn’t breach that kind of trust on a day jumbled with such violence, miscommunication, and uncertain passion. The slick pads of his fingers followed the seam of his scrotum, incrementally, so slowly Lee could dislodge him with a twist of his hips. He looked up, solemn, and caught Lee’s gaze. He carefully nodded once and cocked his head to the side. The gasping, trembling, nearly undone man above him responded in kind, then continued nodding his head faster as Chris approached their mutual goal.

Intense heat, incomprehensible from a human body, seared through the pads of his middle and index fingers as they made contact with puckered, twitching skin. He marveled at the smoothness beneath the wrinkles, the life it seemed to carry on its own. So enthralled he was that his stroking of Lee’s cock slowed to a firm squeeze as he explored.

He watched Lee’s expression – pained, fulfilled, pleading – Chris couldn’t keep up with the emotions playing over his face. He swallowed hard, held the back of Chris’ head firmly, and hissed a barely audible, “Yes, please.” Chris gulped, fingers trembling.

He was held rapt, watching Lee slow his thready breathing to deep lungfuls. Then he felt it, scarcely perceptible at first, then a more obvious softening and spreading of the hot, quivering flesh beneath his fingertips. A few more breaths, and Lee seemed entranced – eyes blown black, chest rising and falling slowly, knees bending just that much more – and Chris felt the sweltering heat of Lee’s body deep inside. He pushed against the trembling, opening flesh experimentally and felt a firm ‘pop’ against ringed muscles, his fingers sinking into Lee past the first knuckle. A sustained groan rose above him, then thighs trembled as Lee quite literally seated himself on Chris’ hand.

Demanding hands jerked his face back toward Lee’s now steadily dripping cock. Chris grunted at the sight, driving his mouth over as much of Lee’s cock as he could even as his fingers dove deeper, resting flush with Lee’s body in a steady slide.

Lee bit his lips in front of a shout and clutched Chris’ head harder, pounded his mouth harder, than he would have deemed possible. He broke open with the first thrust, and from deep inside he finally, _almost_  finally, had his heart’s desire.

“Yes! Chris! Fuck me, Chris. Fuck me …” he chanted over and over, syncopated to the rhythm he establish to drive himself unevenly down on Chris’ fingers then deep into his waiting mouth.

Sensation assailed Chris, leaving him frantic for its climax.  _He’d_  done this – no one else – driven Lee to lay himself open and present Chris with his deepest desires to shape or break as he pleased. He hardly felt worthy when heard a muffled cry of “Close … y – yes ... so close ...”

Lee’s body began to undulate in a new way. “Come … ungh … c – coming C – Chris. For. YOU!” He pulled his mouth away and replaced it with tight, punishing strokes of his hand. Looking up, Chris had to see Lee’s face, see his new lover give him, and him alone, this offering.

It started first around his fingers, hot fluttering to a shockingly strong clench and jerk of Lee’s ass around his hand. Then his balls jumped, actually, visibly jumped up tight against his body. His cock pulsed slowly at first, then more strongly in his fist, the circumference bulging dramatically. Then Chris stared up and opened his mouth.

  
_*****_  


  
Lee’s hands and feet grew numb; streaks of fire ran through his veins and over his skin. He locked his knees to keep himself upright as the fire deep in his belly flashed to explosive. Chris’ thrusting fingers, with more luck than skill, brushed and probed the very center of his pleasure repeatedly, each stroke just that much more forceful, more accurate than the last.

At the base of his spine and deep heart of his body he felt it first, ripples spreading ray-like and lightning quick, from the very tips of Chris’ fingers that his ass grasped and squeezed of its own accord. His hands shot out to the wall before him, balancing him, when his balls clenched powerfully into his body.

His low moan grew louder as his cock began to pulse. He became vaguely aware of the tight hand pumping him hard, harder. Chris’ hand tugging, milking him of his pleasure for them to share. Lee heard, floating atop the, electric convulsions of his body, a harsh whisper.

“Look at … me, Baby …”

Daring to glance down, he stood enthralled by coal black and gas lamp blue, Chris’ eyes setting alight his upturned face and open, expectant mouth. His plum red, shiny tongue lay just over his lower lip, and Lee’s overpowering pleasure now had a target.

“Fu– Fuuuuu … “ Lee shouted as the first burst rocketed from his body and landed dead center on Chris’ tongue. The man on his knees moaned open-mouthed and aimed the cock he still pumped deeper into his mouth. The next two spurts stacattoed against his palette. Already dizzy and unsure on his feet, Lee briefly anticipated passing out from the deliciously lewd sight.

  
_*****_  


  
Pulse blaring through his ears, Chris’ senses dimmed to all input but hot skin on his lips, around his fingers, and thick, piquant cum in his throat. His trembling left him breathless; the pulsing of his ignored cock shook his body and left him slightly confused.  _Didn’t I just c – ?_  he wondered when a vice-like grip hauled him up to his feet. His head made contact with the wall behind him, cushioned by the thick palm of a trembling hand. It hardly mattered; the entire surface of his body was numb and tingling, like an arm fallen asleep.

The brief, flickering opening of his eyes caught Lee’s – bright with a translucent sparkle – just as they closed, face blurring in Chris’ sight when lips rushed in fast and claimed his own. Lee’s tongue swept through his sticky mouth, lapping at the corners, wet and soothing to the parched scrape at the back of his throat. Stuttering moans vibrated his cheeks. He was vaguely aware of the tugging at his waistband and clatter of the button on the floor, the ticking of the teeth of the zip ripping apart.

“Aaaahh!” Chris hadn’t even felt the hand grip his erection tightly when Lee flicked the ‘on’ switch to his orgasm. Eyes wide open, Chris watched the smile spread across the determined man’s face, his muttered  _yesyesyes_  of encouragement unnecessary, while he floated above the turbulence of his own senses, captivated by the pair of quivering, murmuring bodies pressed against the swaying set wall.

  
_*****_  


  
Chris’ consciousness returned to the image of a blissed-out Lee sensuously licking his own unmistakably semen-covered finger. Painting Chris’ lower lip then coyly returning to his prize, he cocked his head and whispered sweetly, “Welcome back.” Attempting a first stretch of locked muscles, they gasped together as Chris had yet to dislodge his hand from within Lee’s still-unsteady body. Giving his fingers a brief flutter that coaxed another groan from the man propping him up against the wall, he withdrew them slowly, resting his hand on Lee’s hip with a simultaneous crack of his neck.

“Mmm … I wasn’t moving  _those_  until absolutely necessary.” Lee chuckled.

“I feel like I broke my wrist,” Chris teased.

“Then it was necessary.” Lee stepped back and pulled up his pants. “Hungry?”

Chris shook his head lightly in disbelief. “Hu – what? ‘Hungry’?” He blinked slowly, grimacing while tucking wet shirt tails into his pants.

“Are. You. Hungry?” Lee punctuated his overly simple pronunciation with makeshift sign language, clearly enjoying Chris’ disorientation. “You know, food? Eat … something beside me?”

The last quip stunned Chris back into a semblance of coherent thought. Air blew through his lungs in a guffaw. “Heh! You  _are_  tasty, but you know what they say, ‘tastes great, less filling.’” Lee cocked an eyebrow and shook his head at the excruciatingly bad joke. And laughed happily. “Actually, I’m starving.”

“Great. Get your stuff. I’ll meet you at my bike,” Lee shrugged on his jacket and walked past Chris to retrieve his helmet.

“You wanna go to Gio’s? I think they’re open this late …” Chris asked with his head down, briefly attempting to keep his pants together with no button and a zipper missing half its teeth.

“Nope, my place. My mom’s stew recipe. Always better the second day.” Lee looked suddenly uncomfortable for his relaxed enthusiasm. “That is, uh, if you want to … “

Lee’s hesitation, his innate gathering of defenses around himself caused a familiar chill to slither up Chris’ neck. Panic struck him. He wouldn’t let all the fighting, the bruises, the tears be wasted, not mean something, everything had changed between them. For Lee to shut him out again, perhaps permanently this time, would be unbearable; Chris had worked too hard, risked too much, to get his foot slammed in the door again. He strode two big steps to face Lee, gently cupped the back of the uncertain man’s head, and softly kissed bruised lips.

“Yes, I want to. Really.” Chris answered.

Mirroring Chris’ caress and smile, he swallowed carefully and asked the Big Question as he thought, _In for a penny …_

“Good. Can you, uh, can you stay?” Lee stammered, clearly not expecting the broad smile reflexively spreading across Chris’ face, giving his features a rarely seen lightness and glow.

Leaning forward for a quick, reassuring kiss, Chris answered, looking for all the world like a boy about to divulge the location of his secret hideout.

“Yes. Tonight, I can stay.”

Nearly hopping with joy, Lee gathered himself and gave Chris a curt nod. “Okay. Like I said, meet you at my bike.” He turned and walked down the hall before anything could be said or done to fuck up what was hands down the strangest, most unexpected, wonderful, frightening, wonderfully frightening encounter he’d ever had. And there would be more. His cheeks cramped from smiling while he thought  _Tomorrow. Buy another helmet._

__   


*****

Stunned, painfully erect and sweat soaked through and through, the man in the shadowed corner breathed deeply and attempted again to make sense of what he had just seen. Rage. Violence. Answering tenderness. Desperation. Passion like a tidal wave. Love. A thousand other things that felt at once monumental and fragile, fleeting.

  
Scrubbing his hand over his damp hair, Dean simply muttered “Holy shit!” as he walked back toward the set.


End file.
